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ALFRED DE ROSANN; 


THE ADVENTURES OF A FRENCH GENTLEMAN. 


BY 


GEORGE W. M. REYNOLDS. 


IN TWO VOLUMES. 

_ 

VOL, 1. - — ^ 



PHILADELPHIA : 

CAREY AND HART. 


1839 . 

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f 

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Printed by 

llaswell, Barrington, and Haswell. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


CHAPTER 1, 

THE EMIGRANTS. 

Towards the close of the year 1793, when the 
horrors of the French Revolution expelled so many 
noble emigrants from their unhappy country to seek 
an asyluih on the hospitable shores of England, whose 
sons are ever ready to afford shelter and protection to 
the political sufferers of other climes, a post-chaise 
drove up to the door of a hotel in Leicester Square, 
and a foreigner of commanding aspect, and aristo- 
cratic mien, descended the steps of the vehicle, crying 
involuntarily, “ thank God ! we are at length safe in the 
metropolis of England !” He then assisted a lady to 
alight from the carriage, which she did with difficulty, 
for in her arms she carried a sleeping babe that had 
scarcely breathed the air of this world eight or ten 
months. The landlord received the strangers with 
obsequious bows, for they were evidently of high rank 
— if manners and appearance form a criterion to judge 
of the position of individuals in the wide circle of 
society — although they merely gave as their names 
Monsieur and Madame d’Estelle, without any titular 
appendage. Of one thing, however, they made no 
secret : too much rejoiced at having escaped the 
persecutions awaiting them in their own country, the 


4 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


illustrious foreigners did not scruple to confess that 
they were emigrants from the distracted territory of 
France, whose ambitious rulers had changed the prin- 
ciples of a glorious revolution into the hateful tyranny 
of murderous despots. But they had not left their 
native" clinae as beggars on the face of the earth : they 
were aware that many of their unfortunate fellow- 
countrymen had already put the charitable disposi- 
tion of the compassionate English to a repeated test : 
and they had wisely provided themselves with that 
which now-a-days has become the one thing need- 
ful.’^ 

M. d’Estelle, and his affectionate wife, who insisted 
upon sharing the adversity as well as the prosperity 
of her husband, resided about a week at the hotel in 
Leicester Square ; whence they removed to a com- 
fortable lodging which they hired in the Haymarket. 
There they lived retired and secluded together, while 
their child — the greatest source of comfort and of hope 
to them in their present circumstances — throve apace, 
increasing in stature and in beauty. Often did the 
tender mother weep over her infant daughter, whose 
name was Eloise, and deplore the loss of rank and 
fortune on account of that innocent creature. She 
did not regret those deficiencies as their effects re- 
garded herself : tranquillity and peace had always 
suited her quiet disposition much better than the 
glittering fashion, the ceremonious balls, and the bril- 
liant salons of the Faubourg Saint Germain in Paris. 
But she was ambitious because she was a mother ; and 
her bosom heaved with frequent sighs as she glanced 
around her present lodgings, for she could not help 
forming a comparison between them and the magnifi- 
cent hotel she had inhabited in the metropolis of her 
native France. Alas ! little did she deem, as thus 
her mind deplored the decay of grandeur and aris- 
tocracy, that the trophies of the future glories of her 
country were to be erected on the basis which ap- 
peared to her prejudiced imagination nought but irre^ 
deemable ruins ! 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


5 


A year passed away in the peaceful retreat of the 
family of d^Estelle, when a grievous illness threatened 
to rob the noble exile of his virtuous spouse. Ma- 
dame d’Estelle was naturally of a weak constitution ; 
and the misfortunes of her family had preyed upon 
a too sensitive mind to such a degree, that at length 
the body was affected. Day and night did the heart- 
broken husband attend at the sick bed of her who had 
shared all his adversities with heroic fortitude ; but 
vainly did he endeavour to blind himself to the cer- 
tainty of soon sustaining a terrible loss. Every hour 
appeared to add to the malignity of the slow fever 
which was consuming the unhappy lady ; and bitter 
— burning tears, were those that the emigrant shed 
when his beloved wife snatched a momentary repose. 

The medical gentleman who attended Madame 
d’Estelle, was a person no less renowned for his ta- 
lent than for the excellence of his disposition, and the 
goodness of his heart. His name was Clayton ; his 
lamily was ancient and respectable ; and his reputa- 
tion, as a professional man, was so firmly established, 
and on such sound principles, that he enjoyed a practice 
inferior to that of no surgeon in London. He was 
united to an amiable woman, whom he tenderly loved ; 
and his marriage had been blessed with a smiling 
offspring. Two boys claimed his parental care, and 
engrossed all the time that he could spare from his 
medical duties. One was about eleven years of age 
at the period when Mr. Clayton was called in to at- 
tend upon Madame d’Estelle ; the other was only 
nine ; but both were promising youths, full of vivaci- 
ty, quickness, and mental energy. William — the el- 
der of the two — was more sedate and studious in his 
disposition than his brother Henry ; the former was 
the favourite of his father — for all parents are guilty, 
if such a term be applicable, to these predilections ; 
and the latter was the darling of his mother. 

Mrs. Clayton conceived an extraordinary degree of 
interest in favour of the emigrants, the moment her 
1 # 


6 


yiLFRED BE RO^ANM:. 


husband became acquainted with them ; and being 
naturally of a kind disposition, she called upon Ma- 
dame d’Estelle, and volunteered her services in the sick 
room. An acquaintance, that was thus commenced 
under circumstances peculiarly interesting, though 
sad, soon ripened into a firm friendship j and the two 
families associated with each other on terms of per- 
fect intimacy. M. d’Estelle had one secret only un- 
revealed to Mr. Clayton — and that was his real name 
and rank ; but the worthy surgeon never intruded 
upon the private thoughts of the noble Frenchman, 
nor even hinted at the cause of his sorrows. 

Months passed away, and the health of Madame 
d’Estelle declined daily. At last her sufferings were 
brought to a termination: the cankering worm of dis- 
ease had bitten a vital part; and the hand of death 
clairned its victim. We will draw a veil over the 
grief of a bereaved husband — we will not detail the 
sorrow of his friends — the kind sympathy they of- 
fered, nor the consolation it afforded. No pomp, no 
vain ostentation were displayed at the departed lady’s 
funeral; the mourners were few, but they were sin- 
cere; the sighs, that were heaved above her tomb, 
and the tears which were dropped upon the black cof- 
fin, were as free from hypocrisy as the mind of an 
infant is from corruption. 

M. d’Estelle bore his loss with the fortitude of a 
noble mind, and determined to exert himself in fa- 
vour of his daughter. He accordingly accepted the 
kind invitation of Mr. Clayton, and removed to that 
gentleman’s house, in order to give his child an oppor- 
tunity of receiving an almost maternal attention at the 
hands of Mrs. Clayton, who soon became as fond of 
the interesting Eloise as of her own children. Her 
husband noticed this increasing tenderness, and was 
rather pleased than annoyed at its progress; for his 
humane disposition taught him to commiserate the 
helpless little being whom a father could not rear 
with the same facility asamother or one supplying that 
mother’s place. The two boys vied with each other 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


7 


in endeavours to demonstrate their affection for the 
daughter of the emigrant; and Henry in particular 
entertained an unfeigned attachment towards the gen- 
tle Eloise. 

Time rolled onwards — weeks and months passed 
away; and the mind of d’Estelle gradually became 
restless. He experienced a secret yearning to revisit 
the shores of his native country; he knew that if he 
could only set foot in the French metropolis, he might 
realize more than half of his once extensive property, 
the greater portion having been so laid out as to be 
immediately tangible by him, and available to no one 
else. He communicated his desires to Mr. Clayton, 
who at first combatted them with success; but at 
length a circumstance occurred that fixed the waver- 
ing resolutions of the refugee, and rendered him deaf 
to the friendly remonstrances of the excellent surgeon. 

One evening, as M. d’Estelle was returning home 
from a theatre— the first time he had entered any 
place of public amusement since the death -of his 
still lamented wife — -he was accosted by an individual 
who respectfully saluted him, and called him by his 
real name. The noble emigrant could not at first 
recollect the features of the person that thus address- 
ed him; but a moment’s reflection called to his mind 
the countenance of an old domestic whom he had 
been obliged to discharge ere he quitted Paris. A 
long conversation ensued. The servant had only ar- 
rived^in London a few days before the one on which 
this encounter took place; and he related in full many 
of the political changes which had just occurred in 
France, and of which his late master had only heard 
imperfect rumours, or had gathered garbled accounts 
from the London journals. At length they separated, 
but not before M. d’Estelle had given his fellow- 
countryman a rendezvous for the next day. 

The noble refugee returned home to the dwelling 
of his friends; and in the course of the evening, when 
pressed to reveal the cause of his thoughtfulness, he 
declared his intention of undertaking a journey to his> 


6 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


own native land, and proposed to start in a day or two, 
adding that the political changes, which had just 
taken place at Paris, introduced certain particular 
friends of his own into offices of some eminence. 
Mr. Clayton saw that d’Estelle’s mind was made up; 
he therefore refrained from using any remonstrance; 
but when the appointed hour came, he saw the daring 
Frenchman depart with an anxious heart. 

^‘You have nothing particular to tell me, my 
friend?’’ said he, d’Estelle’s hand trembling in his 
own, as they stood on the steps of the door, at which 
a carriage was waiting. 

“ Oh! no — nothing — save a thousand thanks for all 
your kindness,” was the reply. shall soon return, 
and then may perhaps have somewhat to unfold. 
Adieu!” 

And the post-chaise was speedily out of sight 

Mr. Clayton felt disappointed. He knew that 
d’Estelle had much to reveal — he was aware that 
those revelations must also materially affect his 
daughter’s welfare. But in another moment he con- 
soled himself with the idea that his friend had cer- 
tainly committed to paper the secrets which he so 
carefully concealed in his own breast, and which sen- 
timents of false pride prevented him from unfolding 
even to those who entertained the most lively interest 
in his fortunes. < 

D’Estelle departed — and left his infant child to the 
care of those in whom he could trust, and who did 
not betray the confidence he placed in them; for had 
Eloise been the daughter of the w’orthy people her 
father had selected as her guardians, she could not 
have experienced greater kindness, nor have been 
the object of more sincere attachment. Henry, whose 
years so much exceeded her’s, made the interesting 
little being his constant playmate, and doted upon her 
with more than fraternal love. 

A fortnight after M. d’Estelle’s departure, letters 
were received by his friends in England to announce 
bis safe arrival in the capital of France, and impart 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


9 


the hopes he entertained of securing the large pro- 
perty which had been the principal cause of his leav- 
ing England. He concluded his welcome epistle by 
desiring Clayton to send him occasional news of his 
daughter, and to address all letters to him under the 
name of d’Estelle, Post Restant,^ Paris. At the 
expiration of six weeks another despatch from the 
father of Eloise contained the welcome intelligence 
that he had succeeded in obtaining possession of an 
immense sum of money, and that he should return to 
England as speedily as possible, the moment certain 
negotiations of a pacific nature were terminated for 
him by an influential relative. 

Another month elapsed, and a letter, bearing the 
foreign post-mark, was again put into Clayton’s 
hands. M. d’Estelle informed his friend that he had 
been grossly deceived by the political relative to 
whom he had before alluded, that he was obliged to 
seek a momentary refuge in a mean abode, but. that 
he hoped to be shortly able to effect his escape from 
the French metropolis, and once more seek the hos- 
pitable shores of England. He concluded by stating 
that he had already despatched his money to London, 
so as not to be burdened with a weighty charge on 
the clay of his anticipated flight from a city where 
continued horrors were being perpetrated around him. 

These were the last tidings that ever Mr. Clayton 
received of the unfortunate d’Estelle. Weeks — 
months — years rolled away — and still he returned 
not to the abode where dwelt his daughter and his 
friends. Horrible suspicions arose in the surgeon’s 
mind; he doubted not that the gallant French had 
fallen a victim to his rashness; and as day succeeded 
day, and no traces of him nor his fate could be disco- 
vered, hope was forsaken, and despair usurped its 
place. 

It was now that the generous and noble dispositions 
of Mr. Clayton and his amiable wife exemplified them- 

* Jjetters so addressed are to be kept till called for, 


10 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


selves in a more striking manner than ever. Instead 
of recollecting or feeling, as many in their situations 
would have done, that they were encumbered with a 
child who was not their own, but a stranger’s offspring 
—instead of looking upon the innocent creature in 
the light of an orphan whom charity obliged them to 
keep, they treated Eloise with even additional kind- 
ness, if possible; and as she grew up, no expense was 
spared on her education. Beautiful and accomplished, 
she became as dear to them as their own children; 
and never — never once did her humane guardians 
suffer her to experience the slightest embarrassment 
on account of her dependent situation. 

The boyish attachment of Henry to the interesting 
orphan ripened with years, and increased as they both 
grew older. At first he looked upon Eloise as a sis- 
ter — then as a familiar friend — and at last with the 
downcast eyes and bashful glances of a lover. His 
parents failed not to notice these gradual and progres- 
sive changes; and so far from being vexed at the pre- 
ference which their younger son manifested in favour 
of their beautiful ward before the other ladies of his 
acquaintance, they did all they could to encourage a 
passion which would insure a happy lot for Eloise, 
and put Henry in possession of a wife whose charms 
and accomplishments rendered her worthy of the 
highest distinction. 

Henry had embraced his father’s profession, and 
bade fair to create for himself a similar rej^utation. 
William had entered into a commercial establishment, 
and was making a rapid fortune by means of happy 
speculations and unremitting attention to his business, 
when he was invited to be present at the nuptials of 
his brother. Eloise was now nineteen years of age. 
She was beautiful beyond description, possessed a 
variety of accomplishments, and was sincerely at- 
tached to him whose future fortunes were so soon to 
be linked with her’s. At length the auspicious morn- 
ing dawned— a brilliant cavalcade left the house of 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


11 


Mr. Clayton— and the ceremony was performed at St. 
James’s Church, in Piccadilly, a select number of re- 
latives and friends being alone invited to witness the 
celebration of the hymeneal rites. 

The year 1812 was an eventful one for the family, 
of Clayton. The marriage of Eloise and Henry was the 
only happy circumstance which marked it; all else 
was sad and sorrowful. Mr. Clayton, encouraged by 
the successful speculations of his eider son, embarked 
a considerable portion of his property in the same ad- 
venturous commercial lottery, and one morning found 
himself so nearly ruined that the remnants of his 
once ample fortune scarcely sufficed to cover his en- 
gagements and liquidate his debts. The property of 
William was alike involved in ruin; and, to the asto- 
nishment of every merchant or banker upon the fix- 
change, his house, which was considered as secure as 
aught in this world can be, stopped its payments. 
These sudden visitations of calamity so affected the 
mind of Mrs. Clayton, that she sickened, and, after a 
short illness, resigned her breath in the arms of a dis‘ 
tracted husband. Mr. Clayton did not long survive 
so severe a loss. Deprived of fortune and the partner 
of his sorrows as well as of his joys, he felt himself 
an isolated being in the world, and became reckless of 
life. His naturally gay disposition relapsed into a 
brooding melancholy and a continued reverie on un- 
pleasant subjects; and in the autumn of the same year 
which witnessed the nuptials of Henry and Eloise, 
and which marked the departure from this world of 
a virtuous woman, he succumbed to the weight of his 
misfortunes, and closed his eyes upon the sorrows of 
earth for ever. 

On his death-bed he related to Eloise all that he 
knew relative to her parents; he imparted his suspi- 
cions concerning her father’s fate to the afflicted girl, 
and placed in her hands the various letters he had re- 
ceived from him when he was at Paris. 

By their aid,” said the dying man, ‘^you may. 
one day discover some traces that will solve this mys- 
tery, and help to put you in possession of a fortune 


12 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


which evidently was remitted to London and destined 
for you. When I found that your lamented father did 
not return, as he promised, and as he repeatedly ex- 
pressed his intention of shortly doing in his letters, 
I advertised in the daily journals to request that any 
banker, agent, or merchant, who might have received 
money to the account of a M. d’Estelle, would take 
the trouble of enclosing his address, that I might com- 
municate with him on an important matter relative to 
the said M. d’Estelle. But no answer was returned 
to these solicitations; and every other step that I took 
to discover your father’s fate, and that of his immense 
property, was equally ineffectual. I sent a trusty 
agent to Paris to make inquiries relative to those inte- 
resting circumstances; but unfortunately your father 
was accustomed to act with so much reserve, even 
towards his best friend — who was myself — that this 
measure produced no more effectual results than the 
various others which I adopted. It was my fond 
hope,” concluded the old man with tears in his eyes, 
‘‘ to have been able to leave you and Henry, at my 
decease, a comfortable addition to your present means; 
but, alas! unhappy speculations have robbed me of the 
wealth accumulated by the sweat of my brow. Thank 
God ! you do not want — you are not in poverty, if you 
be not rich; and you will act kindly to your brother 
William, should his affairs still continue unprosperous. 
Farewell, my dear children— may Heaven bless you 
— farewell! 

And with these words the tender father and excel- 
lent friend breathed his last, leaving behind him 
hearts that felt too deeply not to deplore his irrepa- 
rable loss. ^ 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


13 


CHAPTER 11. 

ELOISE AND ALFRED. 

It often happens in this world, that when Fortune 
is wearied of tormenting us, she takes a sudden ca- 
pricious turn, and lavishes her benefits upon our heads 
with the same profusion in which she lately poured 
forth the phials of her wrathful spite. At least such 
was the case with the family of the Claytons. In the 
year 1^13 Eloise presented her husband with a pledge 
of their mutual affection ; and although the summit of 
his ambition was to become the father of a blooming 
boy, he nevertheless hailed the birth of a daughter 
with the most unfeigned delight. A trivial dispute 
arose a^ to the name of the innocent being ; but it ter- 
minated in favour of the mother, and the child was 
accordingly christened Eloise. 

But this was not the only circumstance which filled 
the hearts of Mr. and Mrs. Henry Clayton with joy. 
William had collected the wrecks of his ruined for- 
tunes, and, aided by a little additional pecuniary as- 
sistance from his brother, had commenced business 
once more. For a moment his credit was limited, 
and his operations necessarily circumscribed, on ac- 
count of the impression his late failure had made 
upon the minds of commercial men ; but the known 
integrity of his character, and the rapid successes he 
again experienced, speedily wiped away all disagree- 
able reminiscences, and insured him public esteem 
and confidence to as great an extent as ever. But his 
mind had undergone a considerable change. His soli- 
tary hours were occasionally embittered with sad 
reflections ; he remembered it was at his instigation 
that his father had embarked in the miserable spe- 
culations which had deprived him of fortune, and 

VOL. I. — 2 


14 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


lessened the remnant of his days. He could not banish 
from his imagination the death-bed of his affectionate 
mother, broken-hearted at the calamities that visited 
her husband when it was too late in lifd to repair the 
grievous harm. Such were the frequent reproaches 
he made himself ; and although no sting harassed his 
conscience, still did he bitterly regret the moment in 
which, emboldened by his own successes, he induced 
his parents to hazard their fortunes in the same enter- 
prises. To expel these gloomy ideas, he laboured at 
his desk with increasing ardour, and not only gained 
back the vast sums he had formerly lost, but a consid- 
erable property in addition. Unlike the gambler, 
who becomes more daring as his fortune appears more 
prosperous, William was contented with the treasures 
he accumulated, and retired from business in a few 
years to enjoy the repose he well merited after his 
severe toils. Never having been tempted to change 
his bachelor’s freedom for the silken chains of matri- 
mony, he took up his abode with his brother and 
sister-in-law, and devoted himself entirely to their 
society. He gratefully recollected the pecuniary as- 
sistance they had afforded him immediately after his 
father’s death, when he had first indulged in a hope of 
re-establishing his fallen fortunes ; and now that pros- 
perity had so amply crowned his most sanguine 
wishes, he generously shared the wealth his labours 
had acquired with those whom he loved, and who 
felt a sincere interest in his welfare. 

Meantime the -little Eloise became the darling of 
her parents, and gave great promise of inheriting all 
her mother’s beauty, as well as acquiring the same 
accomplishments. But scarcely had she attained her 
ninth year, when her father was suddenly cut oflf in 
the vigour of manhood and of life. Nothing could 
exceed the grief of Mrs. Clayton at this event ; she 
for many days resigned herself entirely to the deep 
sorrow that filled her soul, and obstinately refused to 
listen to consolation. At length she recollected that 
there were many duties for her yet to perform in the 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


15 


world, that a daughter demanded a parental care, and 
that she must live for the child who called her by the 
endearing appellation of Mother.’* Long — ^long, 
however, did she cherish the image of her departed 
husband ; years elapsed ere she ceased to weep when 
his name was mentioned; and never, never could she 
totally obliterate the relics of wo from her lacerated 
heart. The wound healed, but the scar remained ; 
and it would not have required a very severe blow to 
have opened it anew. 

Mrs. Clayton now reflected more than ever on the 
words which her father-in-law had uttered on his 
death-bed. She felt that hitherto she had been guilty 
of a partial neglect towards the memory of her sire, 
in never even having wished to see the glorious land 
to which he belonged, and which had given birth to 
heroes whose unrivalled names are eternally recorded 
on the pages of history. She reproached herself with 
a culpable indifierence towards the country of which 
her father once w^as proud, and made up her mind to 
visit the shores where politeness and refinement ex- 
isted to so pre-eminent a degree. She communicated 
her intentions to William, and he instantly resolved 
upon accompanying her. Their preparations were 
soon made; their adieus to England cost them but 
few tears ; and ten days had scarcely expired, ere 
they were settled in Paris. 

The change between the two cities — the sombre 
pomp of London, and the brilliant splendour of the 
French capital — the gloom of the one, and the gaiety 
of the other — the dulness of the former, and the 
endless amusements of the latter— contributed much 
to dispel the melancholy ideas of the young widow, 
and to occupy her thoughts. Mr. Clayton had pro- 
vided himself with letters of introduction to many 
distinguished families in Paris ; and a week had bare- 
ly elapsed after their arrival, before their drawing- 
room table was covered with cards of invitation, from 
the ancient peer in the Faubourg St. Germain, as well 
as from the rich banker of the Chaussee d’Antin. 


16 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


But they mingled little in the brilliant society whose 
doors were thus thrown open to receive them : the 
memory of her deceased husband, and the education 
of Eloise, prevented Mrs. Clayton from enjoying 
those pleasures which otherwise would have had 
charms for a still young and handsome woman ; and 
William was never fond of the tumultuous delights of 
the assemblies of fashion. 

Eloise grew up, in virtue and loveliness, from the 
interesting child to the amiable girl, and naturally be- 
came the pride of her affectionate mother, who was 
not jealous when she saw her own charms eclipsed 
by the angelic beauties of her daughter. Eloise was 
tall and admirably formed, yet with more the figure 
of a Hebe than a Sylph. Her bust might have fur- 
nished the model for the Venus of Medicis, had she 
and the sculptor lived in the same age. The mild- 
ness of her dark blue eyes betokened an innocence of 
soul that alone belongs to virgin modesty ; and when 
those beauteous orbs were irradiated with the enthu- 
siasm which music creates in the mind of its votaries, 
or by a momentary anger — 

“for e’en in the tranquillest climes 

Soft breezes will ruffle the blossoms sometimes” — 

still were their glances repine with chastity and bash- 
fulness struggling against feeling. Her hair was 
black; and she usually wore it in luxuriant ringlets, 
which partially concealed a face where the vermilion 
of youth and health was so exquisitely blended with 
the pale white, that the shade of the one seemed lost 
in the other as objects that diminish and gradually 
disappear in distance. Her brow — on which no 
anxiety yet sate, and which had never blushed for 
aught approaching the slightest dereliction from mo- 
ral rectitude — was fair and high; and above it were 
parted the dark locks that fell in profusion on a white 
neck, thus forming an agreeable contrast. Her nose 
was perfectly straight; her mouth was small; but the 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


17 


lips were pouting and red — and when a smile played 
upon them, they revealed a set of teeth that might 
have brought the whitest ivory to shame. And on 
her countenance was an expression of such sweet sim- 
plicity, that no libertine, however emboldened by 
.his successes in amatory warfare, could have ventured 
to gaze rudely on Eloise: there was that halo of chas- 
tity and innocence around her, which made those 
who beheld her scarcely ever dare to think of love, 
but to regard her in admiration mingled with respect. 
She was like the delicate bud that the ravaging hand 
of the gardener, who has remorselessly gathered com- 
mon flowers, does not venture to pluck. Frail and 
weak as woman is, innocence with her was strength 
— modesty was a protecting shield — the chaste glance 
of her downcast eye was a sword to disarm the at- 
tacks of the most adventurous. No one, however 
brutal his disposition, could have injured that fair 
creature; but thousands would have been ready and 
proud to protect her. So unassuming was she in her 
mariner, so amiable in her disposition, and so unso- 
phisticated in her ideas, that the breath of calumny 
could not reach her, had there been found one malig- 
nant tongue to utter a derogatory syllable against her 
honour. The old, who are generally bitter in their 
remarks upon youthful beauty, dared not, nor even 
wished, to couple her name with scandal; the bare 
mention of a word calculated to injure her fair fame 
would have proclaimed itself a lie. 

Such was Eloise at the age of sixteen, when a 
youth, whose name was Alfred de Rosann, became 
acquainted with the family; At first sight he was 
struck with her beauty; her accomplishments and 
spotless character achieved the rest. In a very short 
time he was deeply enamoured of Miss Clayton, and 
he hoped that he was not entirely indifferent to her 
in whom he had centred his entire affections. The 
mother and uncle — ever watchful over the welfare 
and interests of the young maiden — were far from 
displeased with the attentions which the youth 


18 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


demonstrated towards their fair charge; as Alfred 
was to all appearance an eligible suitor for her hand. 

Alfred De Rosann was the only son of a rich mer- 
chant, who, dying at an advanced age, left him a 
handsome fortune, with strict injunctions to carry on 
the business that had acquired it. This command, 
which was almost madeaconditionof his inheritance to 
the entire property in his father’s will, did not suit the 
tastes nor the ambition of De Rosann. He burned to 
distinguish himself in the military profession; he had 
read with enthusiasm the history of Napoleon and his 
Marshals; he dreamt and thought of nothing but bat- 
tles and sanguinary conflicts. But there was now no 
field open to the enthusiastic young man; and a sense 
of duty moreover compelled him to renounce all 
ideas of entering into the army. He deplored, while 
he obeyed the dying mandates of his departed sire, 
and strove to forget his visionary glories and ima- 
gined laurels in the bustle of a counting-house. 

For some time he applied himself with diligence to 
his affairs; and his business appeared to prosper. 
But distaste for the drudgery of an office soon made 
him less attentive; he allowed himself frequent holi- 
days, entrusted the management of his house into bad 
hands, and gradually neglected it more and more, till 
at last the very sight of a ledger made him turn away 
in unfeigned disgust. 

One morning an old friend of the late merchant 
called upon De Rosann, and solicited his attention for 
a few moments. The youth listened with respect, 
and his visitor spoke as follows: — 

My dear Alfred, it is with pain and affliction that 
I see the ruinous state of your affairs. There is not a 
merchant on the Bourse* of a day, who does not 
shake his head and shrug up his shoulders when the 
name of your establishment is mentioned. Your en- 
dorsement to a bill does not give it the slightest addi- 
tional value; your credit is suffering hourly. For 


The Exchange. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


19 


God’s sake, before it bo too late, investigate your af- 
fairsj discharge those idle clerks who neglect your 
business, and rob you at the same time; and place 
some person, in whom you can depend, at the head of 
your business. Great as is the evil your culpable in- 
difference has already caused, there still remains a 
remedy; for it is impossible that in the space of six 
months your fortune can be irretrievably compro- 
mised. You know I do not speak from interested 
motives; my friendship for your late revered father 
alone dictates the sentiments I utter: but to prove to 
you that I have no ulterior object, I shall now retire, 
and endeavour to avoid meeting you until I hear that 
you have followed my advice, when I shall be the 
first to come forward and congratulate the son of him 
for whom I entertained the greatest respect.” 

With these words the generous old man hastily 
arose from the chair on which he was seated, and left 
the room before De Rosann could find a syllable to 
utter in reply, so deep an impression had the above 
severe truths made upon his mind. But when he had 
recalled his scattered ideas, he inwardly thanked the 
friend who had given him such excellent advice; 
and he determined not to lose an instant before he 
followed it. 

In the midst of his ruminations he recollected that 
a merchant, of the name of La Motte, had a few 
weeks before made overtures of partnership to him; 
and he immediately conceived the idea of requesting 
this individual, whom he had always heard spoken of 
as an upright and trust-worthy man, to assist him in 
the examination of the state of his affairs. “ Should 
the result be satisfactory,” said Alfred to himself, 

we will then discourse on the possibility of an asso- 
ciation together. Our two establishments blended 
into one, and conducted by La Motte as the mana- 
ging partner, cannot fail of experiencing a signal suc- 
cess; and in so doing, I shall not only fulfil the wishes 
of my father, but shall consult my own tastes at the 
same time. La Motte has the reputation of an hon- 


20 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


est merchant; he is not rich — but he is persevering 
— and that is the essential point.^^ 

Pleased with his idea, he instantly put the scheme 
into execution; and M. La Motte acceded to our hero’s 
request, after having started a few obstacles, that were 
easily overruled. The examination commenced forth- 
with: La Motte was not a man to neglect an affair 
which he saw would eventually turn to his own advan- 
tage; and he shortly completed a most minute scru- 
tiny into all the books and accounts that had been 
kept since the demise of De Rosann’s father. The 
result was not very creditable to the individuals who 
had been left to conduct the affairs while Alfred di- 
verted himself elsewhere. Dreadful mismanagement 
had considerably involved the credit of the house, 
and had occasioned immense losses. But as the old 
man, who offered De Rosann the seasonable advice 
which was the origin of the present investigation, had 
prophesied, it was not too late to remedy the evils 
caused by neglect and indifference, Alfred gave La 
Motte a carte blanche to act as he chose; and the 
first step which that gentleman took towards amelio- • 
rating the condition of the business was to discharge 
all the old clerks, and put others in their places. 

A month was sufficient to demonstrate the efficacy 
of this step: the new administration worked miracles in 
favour of De Rosann; the receipts of the house nearly 
doubled; its connexions were extended;' new corre- 
spondents transmitted their orders from all quarters; 
and the credit of the establishment was saved. Alfred 
did not fail to express his entire satisfaction at these 
prosperous reforms, and M. La Motte again talked of 
the mutual advantages to be derived from a partner- 
ship, while De Rosann listened with attention. The 
result of their deliberations was, that in a few days 
the necessary documents were drawn up, signed, and 
published in the Gazette des Trihunaux and the 
Petit es ^ffiches.^ 

* All partnerships, formed in France, must be advertised in 
these two journals, according to the law. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


21 


It was about this time that De Rosann became ac- 
quainted with Miss Clayton. The match, as we before 
said, appeared eligible in every point of view; and 
when a modest avowal that the addresses of Alfred 
were not displeasing to her’^ was wrung from the 
blushing Eloise, the consent of the mother and uncle 
was speedily obtained. De Rosann was now the hap- 
piest of human beings: he was the chief partner in a 
substantial business — had no trouble in directing the 
affairs of the establishment — drew cheques upon his 
own cashier whenever he required money — and was 
engaged to the most beautiful girl that had ever been 
seen in the fashionable circles of the French metro- 
polis. His friends felicitated him upon his success — 
the old gentleman, who gave him good advice on a 
former occasion, applauded him for the readiness he 
exemplified in following it — and La Motte daily fur- 
nished him with favourable reports relative to the 
prosperity of their commercial enterprises. But all 
the - congratulations of fawning acquaintances — the 
praises of the good — the success of his speculations — 
and -the flattery of his associates — all these were as 
nothing in his estimation, when compared with a sin- 
gle smile on the countenance of his Eloise, or one 
tender glance from her dark blue eyes. 

One afternoon, as De Rossan was completing his 
toilet, having been occupied with letters of importance 
that had detained him at home the whole morning, 
he Was surprised by a visit from La Motte, who 
seldom or never left his office before the hour at which 
he was accustomed to proceed to the Bourse. Alfred 
received the man of business with his usual cordiality, 
and requested him to be seated. 

hope this intrusion does not particularly disturb 
you, my young friend,^’ said La Motte, throwing him- 
self into a large easy chair, and wiping the perspira- 
tion from his face. 

Oh ! no — certainly not,’’ replied De Rosann, at the 
same time manifesting a slight degree of impatience, 


22 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


for it was the exact hour at which he invariably paid 
his respects to Eloise. 

“I will not detain you long,’^ cried M. La Motte, 
noticing his partner’s embarrassment. The fact is,” 
he continued, “ I cannot leave the office to-day — there 
will be little doing at the Bourse — and I wished you 
to do me a service when you return home this even- 
ing.” 

“With the greatest pleasure,” answered our hero; 
“that is, if it be in my power.” 

“Oh! ’tis not only in your power, but in the way 
of business,” answered La Motte with a chuckle. 
“ I must inform you,” proceeded the merchant, in a 
sort of whisper, although he and Be Rosann were 
alone, “that our worthy correspondents, Delisle, Gue- 
rin, and Company, have authorized us to make an im- 
mense purchase for them — they are the first house at 
Marseilles, you recollect — and to accept bills by pro- 
curation, as payment. Here is their letter,” added 
La Motte, fumbling his pocket: then in a moment he 
cried, “Ah! I remember — I left it on my desk; but 
you can see it presently.” 

“ It is not necessary,” exclaimed De Rosann, whose 
impatience increased: “you know I do not often in- 
terfere in the affairs of the house — and that I have the 
utmost confidence — as, indeed, I ought to have — in 
your management.” 

“My sole endeavour is to merit your esteem and 
approbation,” said La Motte, in a modest tone of 
voice: “ but I see you are in a hurry to visit your in- 
tended — eh! eh! — and I will not detain you another 
minute. All I wish is, that you would purchase stamps 
for bills of exchange to the amount of three hundred 
thousand francs, as you return home, and that this 
evening you would devote an hour to assist me in 
drawing them up.” 

“Cannot you send ^clerk? I might forget it.” 

“See what it is to have a young head!” cried La 
Motte. “ Do you know, my dear friend, that if our 
clerks had an idea that we purchased stamps to such 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


23 


an amount, they would instantly imagine we were 
about to issue our own paper, and that our house was 
in a state of insolvency.’’ 

“Your remark is just — and I will do as you desire 
me,” said De Rosann, somewhat ashamed at his blind- 
pess in not having before noticed so valid an objection 
to his proposal. “ But, perhaps, you will dine with 
me, tete-a-tete, this evening, and we can then discuss 
matters of business more at our ease ?” 

“ I shall have the greatest pleasure,” returned La 
Motte, his countenance displaying a satisfaction at the 
invitation which he could not repress. 

“ Adieu, then, till six o’clock,” cried De Rosann, 
putting on his hat and gloves, and making a move- 
ment towards the door. 

revoir said La Motte ; and they separated 
for the present, the one to seek his intended bride, and 
the other to chuckle over a deeply-laid scheme of 
villany in his counting-house. 

De -Rosann was always happy in the society of the 
charming Eloise. Every day developed some new 
accomplishment, — some fresh trait of amiability on 
the part of her he loved ; and instead of experiencing 
an insipid sameness in her manners orherconversation, 
he invariably returned home, after an interview, more 
delighted than ever at the choice he had made, and 
more passionately fond of a being whose soul was 
composed of innocence, chastity, and affection. 

On her side, Eloise by no means regretted the day 
on which she first listened to the ardently pleaded 
suit of her future husband. His form was graceful — 
his countenance was handsome — and his manners had 
that peculiar fascination which characterizes the 
Frenchman more particularly than the citizen of any 
other nation. It was not astonishing, then, that the 
tender pair found pleasure in each other’s company, 
and that they preferred the bliss of one hour’s 
conversation together before all the gay concerts, 
balls, and amusements in which the gay capital so 
profusely abounded. 


24 


ALFRED DE ROSANN* 


CHAPTER IIL 

THE BILLS OF EXCHANGE. 

At six o’clock M. La Motte arrived, and dinner was 
immediately served up. Had Ude himself superin- 
tended the culinary arrangements of the repast — had 
the Trois Freres Provengaux in the Palais Royal 
supplied the wine — and had Chevet arranged the 
order of the courses, and laid out the dessert, they 
could not have succeeded better, nor have exemplified 
more exquisite taste than the domestics of De Rosann 
on this occasion. La Motte, who was somewhat 
addicted to gluttony, w^as in raptures at every conse- 
cutive dish ; he praised the wines, and not only drank 
deeply himself, but also forced De Rosann to follow 
his example by proposing a variety of toasts in imita- 
tion of the English fashion. Alfred was flattered by 
the encomia which La Motte did not fail to lavish 
upon the beauty and accomplishments of Eloise ; and 
he fancied within himself that his partner had never 
appeared to such advantage, nor seemed half so agree- 
able before. 

‘^This champagne is Moett’s best,” said La Motte, 
holding up a glass of the sparkling nectar towards the 
wax-candle that burned on his side of the table: “and 
’tis excellent. Such ambrosia alone is worthy of being 
drank to the health of Eloise Clayton.” 

“Eloise Clayton’s health !” echoed De Rosann ; 
and they both emptied their glasses at the same time. 

“You do well, my dear friend,” continued La 
Motte after a brief pause, during which his lips 
savoured with a peculiar satisfaction the taste of the 
wine he had just drank, “ you do well to think seri- 
ously of s^ettling for life in an honourable, comfortable 
— and, indeed, enviable manner. One becomes wearied 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


25 


the petites maitresses of the Chaussee d’Antin, 
and of the grisettes in the Rue Chariot, or the Bou- 
levard du Temple. The former affect a passion 
which is nothing more than an evanescent caprice; and 
the latter ruin their lovers in dinners at the Cadran 
Bleu, in cachemires, and in tickets for the theatres.’’ 

And they both wind up their follies or their ex- 
travagancies by jilting you for the next handsome 
young man, whose beauty or whose wealth tempts 
their passions or their avarice,” said Be Rosann. 

“You see those vanities in the same light as 
myself,” rejoined La Motte. “ A virtuous woman, 
capable of inspiring and cherishing the affection of a 
young man, is as infinitely superior to the libertine 
mistress, as gold is to dross, or diamonds to pebbles.” 

“That sentiment deserves a bumper,” cried Be 
Rosann, invariably applying to himself or to his situa- 
tion with regard to Eloise, the moral inferences and 
aphorisms of his companion. 

The bumper was accordingly poured out and 
drank. 

“ By the bye, did you think of the stamps, Alfred?” 
inquired La Motte, after a pause ; and, without 
waiting for a reply, he continued, “ because we must 
observe the greatest regularity in our affairs ; and the 
present transaction will not only create a jealousy in 
two or three rival houses, but will also considerably 
increase the credit that we already enjoy — ” 

“And that you established, my dear friend,” added 
Be Rosann, with a grateful recollection of the manner 
in which La Motte had saved and built up the falling 
fortunes of his establishment, when it so nearly suc- 
cumbed to neglect and mismanagement. 

“ I was certain that the union of our respective 
houses would produce the most advantageous results,” 
exclaimed La Motte, delighted at the disposition in 
which the conversation and their repeated applications 
to the bottle, had put the unsuspecting youth. “ But, 
apropos — you did not forget the stamps ?” . 

“No — they are in my portfolio,” was the answer. 

VOL. I. — 3 


26 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


“Because/^ continued La Motte, the favourable 
terms on which we stand with Delisle, Guerin, any 
Company, must not be changed into coldness by any 
neglect on our parts. They are our most considerable 
and important correspondents ; and their transactions 
with us are alone worth a handsome income.” 

“ Their orders have come very opportunely then,” 
said De Rosann ; “for I have many purchases to 
make in preparation of my approaching marriage; and 
a little ready money is absolutely necessary, you know, 
on such occasions.” 

“Thank God, the cashier is not withoutammunition,” 
cried La Motte ; “ and so long as we do business with 
such extensive mercantile houses as that of Delisle, 
we need never fear of being in difficulties. On the 
contrary, our affairs are as flourishing as they well 
can be. — What say you to a glass of champagne in 
honour of Messieurs Delisle, Guerin, and Company, 
of Marseilles ?” 

And this toast was drank with the same enthusiasm 
as the others. 

“ For man}^ reasons, my dear Alfred,” said La 
Motte, determined not to let the conversation languish, 
as it is only in much talking that we find an excuse 
for much drinking, “ you do well to decide upon 
matrimony. The head of a vast mercantile establish- 
ment should be a married man; the steadiness of a 
bachelor is likely to be suspected; and there are a 
great many people who confound moral* with com- 
mercial irregularities, and think that it is impossible 
for a gay young fellow to pay much attention to busi- 
ness. You therefore do right, I again repeat, to en- 
tertain serious ideas of matrimony.” 

“ You know that all is nearly settled,” hiccupped 
De Rosann, whose head began to turn with the effects 
of the frequent potations he had somewhat too liber- 
ally indulged — or been induced to indulge in; for his 
ordinary habits were sobriety and temperance. 

“ Ha ga! and the wedding-day — is it fixed?” in- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


27 


quired La Motte, attentively observing his compa-^ 
nion’s countenance, which was flushed and heated. 

“ Not yet,’^ was the reply. But I begin to think 
we have had enough wine. Let us retire to the salon, 
and take our coffee; after which we shall be fit for 
business.” 

La Motle could scarcely suppress a smile when he 
heard De Rosann talking about his fitness for busi- 
ness;” particularly as the youth could scarcely stand 
upon his legs, his head being giddy, and the objects 
that encountered his eyes appearing to whirl round. 

Arrived in the drawing-room, coffee was served up 
on one table, and La Motte desired the domestic to 
place writing materials upon another. He then told 
the man that he and his fellow servants might retire 
to their respective beds, as himself and their master 
intended to look over some accounts, and therefore 
would not require' their services any farther that 
night. The domestic cast an incredulous glance upon 
De Rosann ere he withdrew, persuaded in his own 
mind that the two gentlemen intended to celebrate a 
bacchanalian orgie rather than trouble their heads 
about figures and bills. And being ashamed that I 
should guess what they mean to do,” said he to him- 
self, “ they think to blind me with a paltry excuse. 
To-morrow morning I shall find the pens, ink, and 
paper untouched.” Thus is it that our servants and 
dependants are invariably the greatest spies as well 
as the most severe critics on our actions; and in the 
hour of misfortune they are unexceptionably our most 
malignant enemies. 

Instead of dispelling the fumes of wine from De 
Rosann’s brain, the cafi noir only served to increase 
the fever of his blood-; affd a glass of liqueur achieved 
that which the wine had begun, and which the 
coffee considerably assisted. De Rosann was in a 
complete state of ebriety; but not so far advanced as 
to be unable to write, although with a trembling and 
unsteady hand. 

The blank stamps were produced, and La Motte 


28 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


made a pretence of filling up the first; but he threw 
down the pen before he completed a single word, 
saying, ^‘Ah! De Rosann, your champagne has ren- 
dered me unfit for business; and these bills — which 
ought to be ready by eight o’clock to-morrow morn- 
ing! Here is work enough for at least three hours; 
and I am unable to share in the labour. What is to 
be done.^” 

‘‘ How, capital!” exclaimed De Rosann; the wine 
has overtaken you, La Motte, at last — you who boast- 
ed at dinner that nothing could affect your brain — 
you who offered to drink glass for glass with any 
man for a wager — ha! ha! ha!” 

And Alfred, affecting sobriety — a circumstance so 
common to a person under the influence of liquor — 
seized the pen, placed the stamps before him, and be- 
gan writing to his companion’s dictation, with a cour- 
age that would have deceived an eye-witness as to his 
real state. La Motte furnished him with a verbal 
description for the first bill — and then sate by to en- 
courage him in the task. Often and often did De 
Rosann nod over the paper, and find himself aroused 
by the voice of his partner, who occasionally supplied 
him with a glass of lemonade or sugar-and-water to 
refresh his parched tongue. Two or three times the 
unsuspicioul youth laid down the pen, declaring his 
inability to prbceed, and the need in which he stood 
of repose; but La‘ Motte encouraged him with such 
exclamations as, Why, my dear fellow, you are not 
beaten yet! Recollect that our punctuality and ex- 
actitude in business are at stake; remember that every 
word you write creates fresh revenues for yourself 
and your future wife; and do not give up, now that 
you have done so much.” ^ ♦ 

A drunken man is easily persuaded; and De Ro- 
sann continued his labours. Bill after bill was fabri- 
cated, each drawn upon Messieurs Delisle, Guerin, 
and Company, of Marseilles, and accepted by De 
Rosann for them, according to the procuration which 
La Motte declared to have received from that firm. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


29 


The gray dawn of morning found him still at his 
labours, and La Motte still by his side. At length 
the task was completed — De Rosann rose from the 
chair on which he had sate for hours, and hurried to 
his bed, where a deep sleep soon overtook him. La 
Motte retired as silently as he was able, and regained 
his own dwelling with a fiendish satisfaction pictured 
on his countenance. 

There is in Paris a discounter for almost every re- 
spective trade ior profession. The same money- 
broker, who negotiates the bills of general merchants, 
will not look at paper bearing the name of a book- 
seller or a goldsmith; and he that cashes the accept- 
ances of the latter, does not trouble himself with the 
affairs of the former. The usurers and bankers only, 
with very few exceptions, undertake general dis- 
counts; thus, the grocer, the baker, the printer, the 
tailor, &c., have each his separate man of business for 
all bill transactions. But the proprietors of great 
mercantile establishments do not give themselves the 
' trouble to go or send to the office of the broker; they 
are waited upon by their discounters every morning 
at an early hour. It was therefore with the greatest 
facility that La Motte obtained cash for the bills of 
exchange fabricated by De Rosann at his instigation; 
and as he was cautious enough to discount them in 
separate sums with at least half-a-dozen agents, the 
large amount did not excite the slightest suspicion. 

At a late hour De Rosann awoke with a sick head- 
ache. He had but a faint impression of the transac- 
tions of the preceding evening; he remembered that 
he had drawn up a quantity of bills, to assist his part- 
ner as he had promised during the day, and he rose 
with the impression that La Motte had written at 
least the half of them. He did not however experi- 
ence the slightest uneasiness — not a suspicion entered 
his mind — he knew that it was common to accept 
promissory notes by procuration for a correspondent 
— and he placed implicit reliance on the integrity of 
La Motte. 


3 


30 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


On the following morning, while De Rosann was? 
still in bed, having scarcely yet recovered from the 
debauchery which he sincerely regretted, being, as 
we before said, of temperate habits, a knock at his 
bed-room door aroused him from a reverie wherein 
Eloise was the chief actress, and La Motte entered 
the chamber. 

am come,” said that individual, when the usual 
salutations had passed, to inform you that pressing 
business obliges me to undertake a journey to Rotter- 
dam; and that 1 must start this very day. I have 
given the head clerk orders to transact the affairs of 
the house, as if I were there; so you need not trouble 
yourself about them any more than you usually have 
done. In a fortnight I shall be here again.” 

‘‘Try and keep your promise, my dear friend,” 
exclaimed De Rosann; “for I shall be anxious during 
your absence.” 

“Calm yourself on that head, Alfred; all will go 
on well — and it is for the interests of the establish- 
ment that I quit Paris.” 

“I wish you a prosperous journey; and at your 
return I hope to be able to name the wedding-day,” 
said Alfred. 

“Nothing will giv^e me greater joy than to witness 
your nuptials,” returned La Motte. “ In the mean- 
time, farewell.” 

And with these words the villain departed, leaving 
his unconscious victim to bear the brunt of all the dis- 
asters that might ensue from the nefarious deeds soon 
to be brought to light. 

For some time La Motte had foreseen the certainty 
of the failure of their establishment; and when the cri- 
sis was nearly at hand, but before anyone suspected the 
tottering situation of the firm, he resolved by a bold and 
desperate stroke to secure to himself a handsome for- 
tune, which it was his intention to enjoy in a foreign 
land. He therefore turned to his own advantage the 
credulous and confiding ignorance of De Rosann in 
commercial matters; and he so arranged his damna- 
ble scheme, that had one of the discounters suspected 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


31 


the validity of the bills, or from any circumstance 
been aware that they were forgeries, he had an excel- 
lent excuse at hand; — ^^It was my partner who drew 
them up — my partner placed them in my portfolio to 
be discounted — my partner received the procuration 
— it is his hand-writing — I am innocent of any foul 
proceedings in the affair.’^ Such would have beenhis 
apology; but the matter passed off without a com- 
ment on the part of the money-brokers; and La 
Motte’s scheme succeeded to the utmost of his wishes. 
Had his affairs always continued in a flourishing con- 
dition, perhaps he would have remained an honest 
member of society. Many are driven by circum- 
stances only to commit crime; while others are born 
with a natural predilection to evil. It is not well for 
a virtuous man to be too proud of his abstinence from 
moral delinquency, unless he can reply in the afiirma- 
tive to the question “ Whether he has ever been 
thrown in the way of temptation, so as to have an op- 
portunity of resisting it?’’ 

A few days after the departure of La Motte, De 
Rosann received the following letter, bearing the 
English post-mark, and dated from Dover: — 


‘^My dear De Rosann, 

‘‘Now that I am safe and beyond the reach of 
danger, I feel it my duty to caution you as to the real 
state of our affairs. The house must stop payment in 
less than a fortnight; nothing can avert the blow. I 
am sorry for you — but I did all I could to prevent it. 
And now, for God’s sake! take my advice, and leave 
the country. I need scarcely tell you that the bills 
drawn on Delisle, Guerin, and Company, are forger- 
ies; and that no procuration of their’s ever author- 
ized such a proceeding. Leave, then, before the 
fraud be detected — and hasten into the Dutch pro- 
vinces as speedily as you can. My advice is per- 
fectly disinterested, as you must see; I only make 
you aware of your real situation, as your ignorance of 


32 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


it can benefit me no longer, and as I do not wish to 
see you involved in difficulties which you may avoid. 

‘‘Ever your’s, sincerely, 

“LA MOTTE. 

September 7, 1829.’^ 

Nothing could exceed the mingled sensations of 
horror and indignation that filled the breast of De 
Rosann when he perused this letter. 

“The villain — the reprobate!’^ he cried, crushing 
the fatal epistle in his hands: “ and has he thus dared 
not only to deceive me, but also to involve me in a 
crime — a treachery, the consequences of which may 
be terrible in the extreme? He is sorr^ for me — the 
wretch! — for me whom he has basely — cruelly de- 
ceived! Oh! how blind — how short-sighted was I not 
to suspect some duplicity at the bottom of so much 
precaution! To make me purchase the stamps — to 
request my aid in drawing up the bills — to withhold 
the pretended procuration — and to flatter me with 
his shallow speeches, his moralizing aphorisms, and 
his toasts! And this is the man who begs me to recol- 
lect that his advice is perfectly disinterested! The 
paltry scoundrel! But the laws of my country are 
just and merciful — they cannot find me guilty of so 
heinous a crime: I will throw myself upon my knees 
before my judge, I will explain all — and this letter 
will help out my testimony, and speak as evidence in 
my favour!’’ 

Having thus partly given vent to his indignation in 
useless invective against the author of his miseries, he 
was about to proceed to the Commissary of Police of 
the quarter of the city in which he resided, and make 
a full statement of the whole transaction, when a vio- 
lent knock at the door of his outward apartment made 
him hesitate a moment ere he put his design into exe- 
cution. He fondly hoped that the visitor might be 
Mr. Clayton, to whom he would explain his exact 
position, and solicit advice. But his wishes were not 
destined to be gratified in this instance. The clank- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


33 


ing of swords, and the heavy tread of boots in the 
passage, made his blood run cold within him; and 
when he saw the Gendarmes enter his room, he fell 
upon the floor, forgetful of his innocence — overcome 
by the horrors of his situation, and crying, Mercy! 
Mercy !” 

But the functionaries of the law had no power to 
spare nor to condemn; they were merely charged to 
secure his person, and lead him before a high autho- 
rity, whose duty it was to investigate the grounds of 
the accusation brought against the prisoner, and either 
commit him to a gaol, or restore him to liberty, ae* 
cording to the importance to be attached to first ap- 
pearances. 

Arrived at the office of the Commissary of Police, 
the Gendarmes introduced Be Rosann to the private 
cabinet in which the magistrate was seated. A long 
and painful investigation then commenced. De Ro- 
sann endeavoured to recall his scattered ideas ; but his 
replies were frequently so vague and contradictory, 
his looks so wild, and his countenance so distorted 
with terror, that ere half the examination was con- 
cluded, the Commissary was almost convinced in 
his own mind that the accused was guilty of the crime 
— and that crime was Forgery ! The unguarded ex- 
clamations he had uttered at the moment of his cap- 
ture, the useless supplications he had made to the 
Gendarmes to suffer him to proceed alone to the 
Commissary’s office, to trust to his honour, and not 
to ruin his character by an exposure — all these cir- 
cumstances appeared sadly to the unfortunate youth’s 
disadvantage ; and when coupled with the damning 
fact that the bills were in his own hand-writing, they 
seemed to combine an overwhelming evidence against 
him. He was accordingly consigned to the safe-guard 
of a prison, while the Commissary forwarded the 
proces-verhal, or indictment, to the Procureur du Roi. 

We shall not dwell at any considerable length on 
this sad portion of our tale : we shall draw a veil over 
the sorrows of Eloise, and the afflictions which De 


34 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


Rosann was doomed to experience. One thing we 
must, however, mention: the moment it was generally 
rumoured that the unhappy young man was certain 
to be found guilty and to be condemned to a very 
severe punishment, Mrs. Clayton deemed it her duty 
— a severe one, which maternal prudence, and per- 
haps selfishness, obliged her, she thought, to perform 
— ^to forbid Eloise to consider herself as any longer 
engaged to De Rosann. In v’^ain the heroic girl, with 
tears in her eyes, threw herself at her mother’s feet, 
and implored a reversion of this sad sentence — in vain 
did her uncle eloquently plead in behalf of the lovers, 
and endeavour to impress upon Mrs. Clayton’s mind 
that it was neither humane nor generous to desert the 
poor youth at a moment when sorrows bowed him 
down to the earth, and when the rest of the world 
forsook him — and notwithstanding she believed, nay 
— was convinced in her own mind, as well as her 
brother-in-law and her almost heart-broken daughter, 
th*at De Rosann was innocent of the dreadful crime 
laid to his charge, Mrs. Clayton was still firm in her 
resolves not to suffer Eloise to regard him as her fu- 
ture husband, unless he were fully acquitted in the 
face of the world by a jury of his countrymen. 

The eventful day of the trial dawned ; and numer- 
ous were the hopes and fears in the minds of the few 
who were any way interested as to the fate of Al- 
fred de Rosann. The court was crowded to excess; 
the accused manifested a degree of firmness which as- 
tonished those who had heard or read of his agitation 
and terror on the morning of his arrest ; and when 
his counsel rose to defend him, a pin might have been 
heard to fall on the oaken floor of the hall, in which 
the tribunal sate, at the Palais de Justice. 

De Rosann’s counsel entered at considerable length 
upon the affairs of his client. He described the 
negligence of which the accused had been guilty in con- 
ducting his business — the investigation of his circum- 
stances, which took place in compliance with the ju- 
dicious counsel given by an old friend of his late 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


3 $ 


father’s — the partnership between him and La Motte 
— the notorious indifference wdiich he still manifested 
towards the details of his commercial speculations — 
the material fact that the whole business was left to 
the entire management of La Motte — the ignorance 
of De Rosann in mercantile matters — his occupations 
and pursuits so much at variance with them — his per- 
petual absence from the establishment — and the facility 
with which a designingvillain might have taken him in. 
The lawyer, amidst a hum of approbation which ceased 
at a signal from the President, then proceeded to de- 
tail De Rosann’s version of the affair that had thus 
brought him before the court — the manner in which 
La Motte had made use of him as a mere tool — his in- 
toxication on the night when the bills were fabricated 
— the circumstance of La Motte’s having desired a 
domestic to supply them with w’riting materials, and 
to retire for the night, as his services were no longer 
required — the certainty that La Motte himself nego- 
tiated the bills on the following morning, and de- 
camped the day after — and lastly, the contents of the 
letter despatched from Dover, which was in La 
Motte’s own hand-writing, and which proved that De 
Rosann was ignorant of the fraud attached to the 
transaction, till the receipt of said letter. The coun- 
sel terminated his skilful defence by saying that if the 
evidence he had recapitulated in favour of his client 
were not sufficient to procure a verdict of acquittal, 
he sincerely hoped that the youth and inexperience 
of the accused might have their weight in his side of 
the balance which a just judge and jury held in their 
hands. 

A murmur of approbation followed this able de- 
fence ; and hope beat high in the breast of De Rosann, 
when the Procureur du Roi rose to reply. 

The public minister said, that however negligent in 
his affairs the accused might have been, he must still 
have had some acquaintance with the principal trans- 
actions of the house — that the investigation into the 
position of his affairs, which took place according to 


36 


ALFRED DE ROSAKTN. 


the wishes of a friend, must have opened his eyes to 
the ruinous consequences of indifference and inatten- 
tion to his business — that the partnership between 
him and La Motte would not have increased that in- 
attention on the part of a young man of De Rosann’s 
known talent and abilities — that De Rosann had often 
been in La Motte’s private office — that it was fair to 
argue those visits were for the purpose of looking a 
little into his affairs—that however ignorant the ac- 
cused might be of mercantile transactions, he knew 
enough to ascertain whether the books were kept in 
order, whether the receipts equalled the expenditure, 
and whether those receipts and expenditures were 
properly balanced — that no sensible man could con- 
ceive the possibility of the head partner in a large 
house not knowing whether he had a thousand or a 
hundred thousand francs a year — and that with regard 
to the continued absence of the accused from his es- 
tablishment, he, the Procureur du Roi, had already 
called evidence to prove that De Rosann was seen at 
least on ten different occasions in the private office of 
La Motte, the time he spent there being quite suffi- 
cient to put him au courant of the principal features of 
his affairs, supposing — and the supposition was a fair 
one — that such was the object of those visits. The 
public minister then entered minutely upon every 
particular relative to the forgery. He said that the 
bills were in tbe hand-writing of the accused — that 
not one was drawn up by La Motte — that it could 
not be proved at what time the bills were fabricated, 
two hours having elapsed between the moment at 
which the stamps were purchased and the hour of 
six when De Rosann sate down to dinner with La 
Motte — that it was reasonable to suppose that the 
bills were drawn up before dinner — that the trembling 
hand in which they were written was as likely to be 
the effect of extreme agitation as of intoxication — 
that, when the servant took in the coffee and writing 
materials to the drawing-room, De Rosann was in a 
.state of ebriety which appeared to defy the possibility 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


37 


of his being able to bold a pen, much less to trace a 
legible line — that it was very natural for La Motte 
to desire the domestic to retire, it being late, and his 
master unable to give orders — that La Motte nego- 
tiated the bills, because he was a party to the concern 
— that De Rosann was outwitted by La Motte, who 
decamped with the proceeds — and that the letter 
from Dover was the result of La Motte’s remaining 
good feelings towards the accused. The Procureur 
wound up his oration by inquiring if it were likely 
that any one in his senses would be capable of so 
rabid a folly as to sign bills of exchange to the amount 
of three hundred thousand francs, without knowing 
whether he had a right so to do ? He affirmed that 
every man of the world was naturally suspicious of 
his neighbour to a certain extent; no person, ex- 
perienced in the ways of life, ever put unlimited 
confidence in another. These were sad truths : but 
mortfl rhaxims were generally disagreeable to the ear. 
Under all these circumstances, the Procureur du Roi 
felt it his imperious duty to demand that the full 
penalty of the law should be put in force on the 
present occasion ; and that, according to the 2d 
Chapter, 3d Section, and 147th Article, of the Penal 
Code, the accused should be condemned to twenty 
years’ hard labour at the galleys, that being the max- 
imum of the punishment allowed by the law in such 
instances. 

The Procureur du Roi seated himself amidst a 
solemn silence. His speech had made a considerable 
impression upon the multitude of spectators : the last 
orator generally prevails with vulgar minds, because 
they have not the memory to recollect, nor the sense 
to compare the defence of the former one with the 
refutation of the latter. But this was not the case 
with the jury. In France the meanest individual, as 
well as the highest, is certain of obtaining justice ; 
and the presence of the public minister in every 
court, save the Tribunals of Commerce, is an advantage 

VOL. I. — 4 


38 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


and a measure of jurisprudence which cannot be suf- 
ficiently appreciated. 

After an hour’s consultation, the jury returned to 
the court, and the foreman declared that the majority* 
was agreed to find a verdict against the prisoner ; but 
that the opinion was coupled with a strong recom- 
mendation to mercy, as there were many extenuating 
and even doubtful circumstances connected with the 
whole transaction. The judges then whispered to- 
gether for some time ; and at length the President 
pronounced the definitive sentence of the court, which 
found De Rosann guilty of the crime laid to his 
charge ; but on account of his youth, of many cir- 
cumstances in his favour, and of the recommendation 
of the jury, the severe penalty of the law, the full 
force of which had been demanded by the public 
minister, was commuted to a milder punishment ; and 
De Rosann was condemned to ten years’ hard labour 
in the criminal prisons of Brest. 

When the awful annunciation met his ears, the un- 
fortunate youth fainted in Mr. Clayton’s arms ; and 
was borne, rather than conducted back to his dungeon 
in a state bordering on distraction. But the worthy 
uncle of Eloise whispered comfort in his ear ; he as- 
sured him that so far as it regarded himself, he was 
not only convinced of his young friend’s innocence, 
but that he would ever dissuade his niece from con- 
tracting another engagement ; and he knew Mrs. 
Clayton’s maternal affection too well to suppose that 
she would force her daughter’s inclination in so delicate 
a matter. These words considerably soothed the irdnd 
of the unfortunate Alfred ; and the kind-hearted Mr. 
Clayton even went so far as to promise that he would 
occasionally accompany Eloise to visit her lover for 
a few moments in his miserable cell. The gratitude 
of De Rosann’s wounded soul was beyond all expres- 


* The twelve individuals, who compose a jury, are not obliged, 
according to the French laws, to he unanimous in their deci- 
sions. A majority of two-thirds can deliver a verdict. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


39 


sion: he thanked his benefactor a thousand times, and 
hope kindled a feeble flame in his bosom where all 
hitherto was darkness and obscurity. 

And Eloise did visit De Rosann in his dungeon ; 
and she promised an eternal fidelity ; and her last 
words, ere she left him, called heaven to witness the 
oath of unchangeable affection which she thus solemnly 
pledged. 

Amongst the brilliant circle of acquaintances and 
friends that the now forsaken Alfred once adorned, 
was a nobleman of high rank, who enjoyed a lucrative 
situation near the person of the king. To him did 
Mr. Clayton address a petition in behalf of De Rosann. 
The nobleman generously undertook to interest him- 
self in the cause of a fellow-creature in whose in- 
nocence he himself believed ; and the royal mercy 
was not solicited in vain. Charles X., with all his 
faults, was not of a cruel nor uncompromising dis- 
position : he instantly lent an attentive ear to the 
prayer that was offered up before his throne ; and the 
sentence of De Rosann was commuted to a sojourn of 
five years instead of ten at the galleys. 

Eloise accompanied Mr. Clayton — but of course 
these visits were unknown to her mother : it was the 
first secret the innocent maiden had ever concealed 
from the knowledge of her only parent ; and even 
now her repugnance to act against that parent’s wishes 
was scarcely overcome by the reasoning of her uncle, 
whose heart was not obdurate enough to deprive two 
fond lovers of each other’s society, and whose con- 
viction of Alfred’s innocence made him act a generous 
part towards the unhappy youn^ man — Eloise ac- 
companied Mr. Clayton to I3icetre (whither De Rosann 
had been removed a few days previously) to be the 
bearer of the joyful tidings that awaited him. Hope 
then assumed brighter colours — five years would 
soon elapse — and the tender couple already saw a 
smiling future not far distant. Mr. Clayton wiped 
away tears of mingled joy and sorrow from his eyes. 


40 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE CONVICTS. 

It was on the twenty-seventh of April, 1830, in 
the reign of the good King Charles the Tenth, that a 
number of convicts left the walls of Bicetre, under a 
strong escort of Gendarmes, to be conducted to Brest. 
The rays of the rising sun had scarcely changed the 
dubious twilight into a certain dawn — a cold breeze 
swept around the gloomy towers of the prison, which 
the criminals were nevertheless averse to quit — and 
the threatening appearance of the heavens seemed to 
give noticeof an impending storm. Theclanking of the 
martial weapons of the mounted police — the haggard 
faces and shivering forms of the malefactors — the rat- 
tling of their chains — the frowning pyramid of build- 
ings whence those unhappy beings had ere now is- 
sued — and the dreariness of the weather, all combined 
to strike terror to the hearts of two individuals, who 
stood at a short distance from the cavalcade, and 
gazed upon the procession with more than common 
curiosity pictured in their anxious countenances. 

The chain of galley-slaves,^ as it is called in 
France, was composed of about fifty or sixty men. 
The moment the doors of Bicetre were thrown open, 
they had issued forth two at a time, such being the 
manner in which they were fettered together — and 
paired off to their respective situations in the inglori- 
ous rank. Eighteen or twenty Gendarmes, bearing 
loaded carabines at their backs and pistols in their 
holsters attached to their saddles, guarded the prison- 
ers with most scrupulous care, and offered an addi- 

* La chame des galeriens: we shall henceforth, with the per- 
mission of the courteous reader, anglicise this expression. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


41 


tional guarantee for their safety. Of the impossibility 
of overcoming such a force the malefactors were well 
aware; and if they cherished any scheme towards li- 
berating themselves from the ignominious shackles 
that confined them, it was procrastinated until their 
arrival at Brest should furnish them with a better op- 
portunity of putting the design into execution, and a 
less distant prospect of success. For singular as it 
may appear to the reader, it is however a notorious 
fact, that few criminals have outwitted the cunning 
or defeated the diligence of the Gtendarmes on their 
road to the walls of Brest and Toulon; whereas a month 
seldom passes without witnessing the escape of a con- 
vict from one of those towns. 

Few spectators were present on this occasion to 
glut their selfish curiosity with the sight of human 
degradation: there was but little novelty attached to 
the mournful ceremony; and in France the public 
journals seldom take notice of the days fixed for exe- 
cuting criminals, or transporting a chain of galley- 
slaves from one place to another. Apart from the 
scanty crowd of idlers, and drawn thither by motives 
far different from those that attracted the rest, stood 
the two individuals we have before alluded to. They 
were as motionless as statues — one clung to the 
other’s arm — but the eyes of both were turned to- 
wards the same point — their looks dwelt upon the 
youngest, the most dejected, and the most remark- 
able as to form and feature, of the convicts. Tears 
trickled down their cheeks, as they gazed upon the 
youth whom misfortune had condemned to so sad a 
destiny. But they spoke not a word, uttered not a 
syllable — grief with them was dumb as to ejaculation, 
although it were proclaimed by a thousand tongues 
on their death-like features — and that internal sorrow 
which their countenances betrayed, was more acute 
than can be described. 

The object of their solicitude, whom the reader has 
doubtless recognised to be Alfred de Rosann, was one 
of the handsomest of God’s creatures. Bowed down 

4 ^ 


42 


Alfred de rosanN. 


as he was to the earth with a deep sense of shame 
and degradation, still did the only half-suppressed 
energies of a noble mind flash from his dark eyes, 
and stamp him at once as a being totally difierent 
from the rest of the motley group in which he now 
found himself. His graceful form was not robbed of 
its perfections by the unseemly garb that enveloped itj 
nor could the beauty of his regular features be disfigur- 
ed by the traces of anguish and despair. His years had 
perhaps scarcely reached their twenty-fourth sum- 
mer; in stature he was somewhat above the standard 
height of a Frenchman; his figure was rather slender 
than athletic; his hair was black; his eyes were large 
and dark; and his hands and feet small even to a 
fault. Let us leave him a moment to his bitter re- 
flections, and direct the reader’s attention to those in- 
dividuals who appear so deeply interested in his fate. 

The first was an elderly man, with white hair, and 
a pale brow on which sate untimely wrinkles. And 
yet that hoariness of locks and those numerous traces 
on his forehead were more the effects of deep thought, 
and settled melancholy, than the work of years; for 
his age scarcely exceeded five-and-forty. He was 
tall, well-formed, and possessed features far from dis- 
agreeable. In his youth he must have been one of 
those who, endowed with many gifts from the hands 
of capricious Nature, are calculated to win the favour 
of the fair sex, and make their way in the world, if 
they have no fortune of their own, through the me- 
dium of an auspicious marriage. He was dressed in 
deep black, and on his left arm hung a large cloak, 
with which, despite of the bitter chill of the morning, 
he thought not of covering himself. His ideas were 
too deeply occupied by another and more material 
affair than the cloudy sky and the impending storm: 
had a second deluge commenced, he would not have 
perceived the force of the falling waters. There are 
times when the soul of man is thus abstracted from 
the scenes of frequent occurrence; and when its re- 
flections are alone engaged in the contemplation of 


Alfred de rosann. 


43 


unusual sorrows. It would almost seem that our ex- 
istence is now and then marked by moments in 
which we can say to our imaginations, “ Ponder on 
this evil which has befallen us, and on naught be- 
sides.” And how faithfully — Oh ! far too faithfully 
are we obeyed! So it appeared to be with the indi- 
vidual we are describing. That manly form stood 
erect upon a little eminence, regardless of the cold 
which even made the Gendarmes, whose constitutions 
w^ere better inured to hardships than his — for his ap- 
pearance bespoke the gentleman — nay, more, it be- 
trayed the rich man reared in the lap of luxury — fain 
to draw their military cloaks around them. But he 
shivered not — there was a burning fire in his soul 
that made him indifferent to the bitterness of the 
morning. 

And he had a companion with him ; but her deli- 
cate frame was carefully surrounded by the folHs of 
an alnple cloak, beneath which the graces of her per- 
son might be well conceived : for so lovely a head 
never belonged to a faulty form. This reasoning is 
scarcely correct, you will say, gentle reader ; but ideas 
of beauty, according to Descartes, are painted in the 
phantasy ; and those ideas not unfrequently make the 
philosopher himself forget his logic, and write at 
random : in this case, however, it will be found that 
our assertions were not rashly hazarded. 

The dark blue eyes of this beautiful creature were 
suffused in tears; and her whole countenance wore 
the appearance of despair. There was no possibility 
of mistaking the heart-rending expression of her lips 
apart, of her h^ad moving, as frequent sighs agitated 
her bosom, and of her quickly repeated sobs. A 
misanthrope would have wept at that distressing 
spectacle ; the man-hater of Athens musthave relented, 
had he beheld the unfeigned wo of so young and fair 
a person. But no description can convey to the mind 
of the reader a competent idea of her intense agony; 
the support she derived from the right arm of her 
companion alone prevented her from falling. 


44 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


It is Scarcely necessary to inform the reader that 
these individuals were no other than the excellent- 
hearted Mr. Clayton, and the lovely Eloise. 

A deep silence had ensued on their part the moment 
that the cavalcade issued from the gates of Bicetre ; 
and while the Gendarmes were occupied in arranging 
the ranks in which the squadron of criminals was 
formed, the weeping girl feebly waved her handker- 
chief to him who was the object of so much solicitude 
on her part, and on that of her companion. But 
Alfred either saw her not, or purposely hung down 
his head to avoid meeting her glances : and when she 
noticed this, her tears fell the more abundantly. A 
quarter of an hour elapsed ere the procession was 
ready to move on j and then, when many of the 
convicts turned round to bid farewell, as it were, to 
the prison behind them, Be Rosann ventured to raise 
his eyes for an instant — they met those of Eloise and 
her uncle — and one expressive look proclaimed how 
much her affectionate kindness was appreciated. 
That look spoke volumes — volumes of gratitude, of 
love, of sorrow, and yet of hope. Her lips moved 
— Hwas a prayer to heaven that she offered for the 
welfare of the unhappy young man — and as the 
galley-slaves now began their doleful march, Mr. 
Clayton hurried his tender charge to a carriage that 
waited near, and they were speedily far away from 
the walls of Bicetre. 

Meantime the chain moved onward, and soon left 
the sovereign city of Europe far behind. From the 
summit of a hill where the troop reposed for a mo- 
ment, that vast assemblage of edifices was seen stretch- 
ing over the wide plain on which it stands like the 
Babylon of ancient days, and its thousand towers ap- 
peared to mock the threatening sky. The rays of 
the sun, now falling on this hemisphere less languidly 
than when the convicts first began their march, gilded 
the lofty dome of the Hospital of the Invalids and made 
it glitter like a distant light-house on some tall rock. 
The dark and gloomy towers of Notre Dame, that 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


45 


seemed to defy the ravages of time, and despise the 
centuries which had already passed over their heads, 
frowned above the myriads of dwellings around them, 
and raised their parapets to heaven like two Goliaths 
in the midst of a mighty army. Nor less did the 
beams of that morning sun irradiate the summit of 
St. Genevieve,"* within whose vaults repose the ashes 
of heroes, of philosophers, and of statesmen. The 
pinnacles of St. Sulpice, the Sorbonne, and the Uni- 
versity caught those gladdening rays ; the sepulchres 
of Pere La Chaise on one side, and the tall buildings 
of Montmartre on the other, closed in the northern 
direction this panoramic view of Paris. 

Tears stood in Alfred De Rosannas eyes, as the 
chain once more resumed its march, and as the gay 
picture of the French metropolis faded from his sight. 
He had indulged in the pleasures of that metro- 
polis — he had tasted of the sweets collected so pro- 
fusely in that hive of luxury and delight — he had 
shone in the most brilliant circles of fashion — he had 
mingled with the nobles of France at the splendid 
court of the royal Charles — and now, what was he ? 
— a degraded outcast ! Oh thought he, as he cast 
a sickening look on his companions, ‘‘ that the name 
of De Rosann should ever be thus disgraced ! Oh ! 
that the grave did not sooner close over me, before 
those accursed fetters should have stamped my infamy, 
and entered into my soul ! La Motte ! La Motte ! 
could’st thou but now see him who put his confidence 
in thee, and whom thy villany has brought to 
shame 

‘‘You are melancholy, my friend,’’ said the indi- 
vidual to whom he was attached by the ignominious 
bond; “ cheer up your spirits, and don’t let the others 
see you take it thus to heart, or by the eternal 
God !” he added with a peculiar emphasis, “ it will 
cost you your life !” 


* Now called the Pantheon. 


46 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


“ How inquired De Rosann, after a moment’s 
hesitation as to whether he should answer or not. 

“Speak in a whisper, my young bird,” returned 
the other, “and I shall be glad to converse with you: 
but if you let every ear become acquainted with the 
nature of our talk, I shall hold my tongue at once.” 

“ Well — well,” muttered the youth hastily. 

“No impatience, my dear boy — and I will stand 
your friend,” said the convict with most ineffable 
coolness. “This is my third visit to the hagne 
and a man has not been there twice already without 
having profited by a little experience. If you mope, 
and cry, and look dull, the others will mistrust you ; 
and as they are obliged more or less to make friends of 
each other, they’ll very soon put you out of the way.” 

“ They would not murder me ?” asked de Rosann 
with a shudder. 

“And why not? There are many at the hagne 
who are condemned for murder: they murdered to 
get money, and in so doing they risked their liberty 
— aye, and even their heads. Well, then,” continued 
the convict, “ do you think they would scruple to slit 
your wind-pipe, if your presence marred or interfered 
with an escape?” 

A cold sweat stood on De Rosann’s brow — an in- 
describable pang shot through his heart — his brain 
whirled — his eyes became dim. 

“ Come, come,” cried hxs soi-disajit friend; “cheer 
up, my good fellow — and do not give way to this 
cursed melancholy. How long are you condemned 
for ?” 

“ Five years,” was the reply, in a voice almost 
choked with emotion. 

“ And I for ten : but if I do not see the good walls of 
Paris once within as many months, then let Pierre 
Belle-Rose lose his excellent reputation for cunning 
and craft.” 

“Ah! how?” inquired De Rosann. 

^ The prisons in which the convicts are confined at Brest, 
Toulon, &c. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


47 


There is not a soul/’ continued the convict, 

‘‘ either in our chain, or at the bagne — unless indeed 
it be yourself — that has not an idea and a hope of es- 
cape sooner or later. This is the reason which obliges 
us to make confidants of our companions; and the 
same may account to you wherefore a religious, sulky, 
moping fellow, who would betray a friend to gain the 
governor’s favour, is suspected. But I will help you 
to weather all difficulties, if you only connive with 
me to attain the grand object. What is your crime?” 

I was accused of forgery,” answered De Rosann, 
a deep scarlet suffusing his whole countenance. 

“ A very gentlemanly and noble perpetration,” con- 
tinued Belle-Rose, for such was the name of the indi- 
vidual to whom De Rosann was chained. ‘‘ I hope 
the amount was considerable.” 

“ Three hundred thousand francs.” 

Tonnerre de DieuP’ exclaimed the convict, gaz- 
ing on his youthful companion in admiration mingled 
with respect: I suppose you are not lacking in ready 
cash, then?” 

“ I have not a single was the laconic an- 

swer, 

“ God knows you cannot have less,” rejoined Pierre 
Belle-Rose, his admiration and his respect for De 
Rosann essentially diminishing. 

‘‘ Every centime would have been taken from me 
by the Gendarmes the moment I was captured, even 
had I concealed cash about my person.” 

See what it is never to have been at the galleys 
during one’s life,” cried Belle-Rose in a compassion- 
ate tone of voice; “he does not even know how to 
conceal his money! Poor young man! But at the 
next town we must get a supply . — Hal ga mon, 
brave , continued the experienced convict, once more 
addressing himself to De Rosann, “ there are two fea- 
tures in your tale that appear somewhat inconsistent. 
Now, as we have no secrets amongst ourselves, I must 
■idemand an explanation. In the first place, how does 
it happen that you did not decamp with your three 


48 


ALFRED DE ROSAIfN. 


hundred thousand francs, and place the frontier be- 
tween you and the police? and in the second place, I 
cannot conceive how condemnation for twenty years, 
which is the punishment for a forgery like your^s, 
could be changed to a paltry five?’’ 

‘^In the first place, then,’’ replied De Rosann, wil- 
ling to conciliate Pierre Belle-Rose, as regards the 
decamping, I must inform you that I was arrested for 
the forgery only ten minutes after I knew it had been 
committed; and in the second place, my youth, and 
the eventual intercession of an old nobleman, obtained 
a commutation of the severity of my sentence.” 

At this moment the chain entered Versailles, and 
the Gendarmes endeavoured to enforce a strict silence 
amongst the prisoners. 

“ Are you not very much ashamed, De Rosann, for 
all the people are at their windows to gaze upon us?” 
inquired Belle-Rose in a whisper that was scarcely 
audible. 

‘‘ God knows I am,” returned the youth in agony. 

“ Silence, thieves!” thundered a Gendarme. 

“ There, my dear boy,” muttered Belle-Rose, as 
he threw a handkerchief over Alfred’s head, so as 
completely to cover his face. 

A thousand thanks,” whispered the youth, feel- 
ing really grateful for this unexpected act of kind- 
ness. 

In about five minutes he felt a trembling hand touch 
his pocket, and drop something heavy into it. A 
voice, almost choked with sobs, at the same time said, 
“God bless thee, my poor dear — dear nephew; and 
recollect that at thy return, thine uncle will be glad 
to give thee an asylum!” 

De Rosann would have turned round to convince 
the compassionate personage of his mistake; but a 
word from Belle-Rose checked him, and he continued 
his weary march without altering his position in the 
rank. 

“ Now we are outside the town,” cried Belle-Rose, 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


49 


“ and you may take off the handkerchief. Let us see 
how much the old fellow has given you.” 

“ What — how?” asked De Rosann, momentarily 
forgetting the circumstance of a heavy object having 
been slid into his pocket. 

“ Your uncle , replied Belle-Rose with an ironical 
grin. 

De Rosann drew forth a purse in which there were 
a few gold coins. 

“ Bravo! bravo!” exclaimed Pierre, laughing heart- 
ily; and soon the whole chain of galley-slaves was 
made acquainted with the contents of \\\q good un- 
cle^s bequest. Even the Gendarmes joined in the 
general mirth, which was not a little heightened by 
the ignorance of De Rosann as to the means practised 
to obtain the supply. His curiosity was however 
speedily satisfied. 

“ I met the nephew of that worthy old gentleman 
at Bicetre,” said Pierre Belle-Rose, “ and learnt his 
whole history, for he was blest with an extraordinary 
mania of communicativeness. He told me that his 
excellent and kind uncle lived at Versailles — that this 
uncle would look out for him when the chain passed 
through the town — and that the handkerchief over 
the face was to be the signal, if he were one of the 
number. Thus, thanks to thy modesty, did the rag 
betray thee, De Rosann!” 

At this communication the galley-slaves in the im- 
mediate vicinity of Belle-Rose set up a hearty laugh; 
and that individual, willing to maintain the mirth he 
had so successfully originated, without preface or pre- 
lude, cleared his throat, and commenced the following 
air in a voice far from discordant and disagreeable: — 


THE POWERS OF WINE. 

Of wealth and glory monarchs boast — 
His mistress’ charms the lover sings; — 
For me the glass and jovial toast 
Excel the bliss of swains and kings. 

VOL. I.: 5 


50 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


The flowing bowl 
Inspires the soul, 

While boist’rous laughter round us rings 
The jest and song 
Our mirth prolong, 

And sorrow flies on drooping wings. 

To W’elcome in the morning. 

Around the board we’ll stay; 

And when the light is dawning, 

To bed we’ll haste away! 

Existence is a changing scene, 

Of happiness and wo combin’d; 

When our meridian sky’s serene. 

Dark clouds are menacing behind. 

The ills of fate 
Our steps await. 

And lead us on, to danger blind: — 

Then learn to quaff 
The bowl, and laugh 
When Fortune’s freak perplex the mind. 
To welcome in the morning, 

Around the board we’ll stay; 

And when the light is dawning. 

To bed we’ll haste away! 

Is life so long that we can spare 
A day to sighs — a night to tears'! — 
Reflection but increases care, 

" And conjures up a host of fears. 

Then wherefore bring 
A blight on spring. 

And crush the blossoms of our years? 
Epernay’s juice 
Will e’er produce 

That which no change of season sears. 
To welcome in the morning. 

Around the board we’ll stay; 

And when the light is dawning, , 

To bed we’ll haste away! 

The soldier in the battle-plain — 

The sailor on the boundless deep — 

The courtier in the monarch’s train — 

The criminal who fears to sleep — 

. Admit that wine 
Has charms divine 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


51 


The soul from mournful thoughts to keep ; 

And haste their woes 
Or anxious throes 
In sweet oblivion’s bliss to steep. 

To welcome in the morning, 

Around the board we’ll stay; 

And when the light is dawning, 

To bed we’ll haste away. 

The Mussulman in festive hour — 

The midnight robber arm’d to slay — 

The poet in his mistress’ bower — 

The trav’Iler on his lonely way — 

Their blessings shed 
On Bacchus’ head, 

And quaff the bowl with laughter gay: 

The rich — the poor 
The god adore. 

And constant own his potent sway. ^ 

To welcome in the morning. 

Around the board we’ll stay; 

And when the light is dawning, 

To bed we’ll haste away. 

In wine and women every ill 
Originates — so priests declare: 

But we will drain the goblet still. 

And then to love a moment spare. 

Our fervent boast 
Shall be the toast 

That tells the praise of woman fair; 

The brimming bowl 
Can cheer the soul. 

And love defy th’ advance of care. 

To welcome in the morning. 

Around the board we’ll stay; 

And when the light is dawning. 

To bed we’ll haste away. 

‘‘ Many a time have I sung that pleasant stave to a 
host of good fellows,^’ observed Belle-Rose, as he 
brought the strain to a conclusion. ‘‘I learnt it from 
a prince of a companion at the board, and one who 
was rather fa'mous in his way. He accompanied me 
to Toulon some time ago — we were reinforced by 


52 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


him and a dozen others at Lyons — and there he is 
now for anything that I know.’’ 

What was he condemned for?” inquired a con- 
vict. 

For the small mistake he made about the old ruin 
in the neighbourhood of Lyons, you know,” answer- 
ed Belle-Rose. 

‘‘I cannot say that I recollect the circumstance,” 
observed the other. 

Then I will recall it to your memory,” continued 
the facetious and talkative Pierre. “You must re- 
member that at a little distance from Lyons are the 
remains of a very old castle, which formerly belonged 
to some ancient family whose name I have forgotten. 
At the present moment the four bare walls are alone 
standing; and a poor farmer some years ago became 
proprietor of them together with the half-acre of land 
upon which they are situate. One day a gentleman 
called upon the farmer and offered to purchase the 
ruins and the space of ground they occupy, asserting 
that he was a distant connexion of the family from 
which the property had passed away, and that he was 
desirous it should not be possessed by a stranger. 
The farmer was delighted at thus being enabled to dis- 
pose of that which to him was entirely useless, and a 
bargain was speedily concluded. The sum of five 
hundred francs was the price offered — and that of a 
thousand was immediately tendered; whereupon the 
overjoyed farmer hastened with the gentleman to Ly- 
ons, where they sought for a notary to draw up the 
necessary deed. — Wou will probably do me the favour 
— for the sake of the honour of our family’ — said the 
gentleman to the notary — ^to represent in the deed 
that I have paid fifty thousand francs for the land, in- 
stead of a thousand ; and your fees shall be reckoned 
in proportion ?’ — ‘ Certainly,’ replied the notary: and 
the document was drawn up accordingly. No sooner 
had the gentleman thus obtained possession of the 
ruins, than he hastened to Paris, called upon a money- 
lender, exhibited his title-deed, and demanded a loan 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


53 


on mortgage of thirty thousand francs. The money- 
lender wrote to the mortgage-office at Lyons to ascer- 
tain if any other sums had been raised upon the pro- 
perty; and receiving a satisfactory reply, he advanced 
the money forthwith. The time of payment arrived 
— no cash was, of course, forthcoming — and the mo- 
ney-lender hastened to Lyons to make good his title 
to the estate in the place of the late proprietor. His 
astonishment and wrath may be readily conceived 
when he found that he had given thirty thousand 
francs for a few old bricks standing on scarcely half 
an acre of land. He, however, succeeded in captur- 
ing the gentleman, who was foolish enough to return 
to Lyons for some purpose or another so soon as he had 
raised his money, and the Procureur du Roi was put 
in possession of the particulars of the case. The Gen- 
darmes were then set to work — the gentleman was 
caught — and shortly afterwards a judge and jury po- 
litely requested him to accompany me and some fifty 
or sixty others in a little excursion to Toulon — an in- 
vitation which he could not possibly refuse.’^ 

Admirable!^’ exclaimed the convict for whose 
benefit this anecdote had been especially narrated; 
‘‘I think I have heard the story before ; but it bears 
telling a second time. Vidocq- — who, by the bye, is 
only innocent in his own book — relates nothing equal 
to it.’’ 

‘‘Nothing,” coincided Belle-Rose ; “it is the most 
ingenious and brilliant achievem.ent recorded in the 
annals of French mistakes, I would sacrifice all my 
reputation, even if I were Vidocq himself, of whom 
you have just spoken, to be the author of so splendid 
a feat. An epic poem cannot insure a more lasting 
renown than this exploit.” 

“ I don’t know anything about epic poems,” ob- 
served the convict with whom Belle-Rose was con- 
versing ; “ but this I do know, that I should have very 
much liked to have had the thirty thousand francs.” 

“You are not exceedingly difficult to please, my 
worthy friend,” exclaimed Belle-Rose. “ Poor fel- 

5 * 


54 


ALFRED DE ROSANJT. 


low! I suppose he is still at Toulon, and I should^nt 
be at all surprised if he endeavoured to raise a mort- 
gage on his chains. He’s ingenious enough for any- 
thing. Do you not think it was a most glorious 
trick, De Rosann ?” demanded Belle-Rose, after a mo- 
mentary pause, and turning abruptly round towards 
the unhappy Alfred, who was too much absorbed in 
his own woes, and too deeply disgusted at all that was 
passing around him, to wear a countenance which in- 
vited conversation. He was accordingly about to have 
replied somewhat bitterly to his companion ; but an in- 
stant’s salutary reflection showed the folly and useless- 
ness of irritating one who might perhaps aid him to 
make his escape hereafter, and at all events initiate him 
in the ways and habits of the bagne. But this circum- 
stance brought the sense of his own wretchedness a 
thousand times more forcibly than ever to his mind ; 
for it not only exemplified to him the villany,the hypo- 
crisy, and the deceit of which his companions were ca- 
pable ; it also compelled him to acknowledge within 
himself the disagreeable and repugnant truth that he 
would be condemned to become a partner in their vices, 
and often the actual agent of their turpitude. To one, 
who has been brought up with the feelings of a gentle- 
man, who has been educated in the schools of honour, of 
integrity, and virtue, and whose soul knows not how 
to descend to such petty instances of larceny or vulgar 
dissimulation as were hourly practised by the members 
of the chain, a situation like De Rosann’s must be the 
most insupportable. Cut off from all intercourse with 
the polite portion of society, linked to murderers, bur- 
glars, and robbers, guarded by ruthless soldiers whose 
uncompassionating dispositions expelled all sympathy 
or even lenity, and on the road to the sink of every 
vice, the receptacle of ruined characters — nature’s out- 
laws, as they might be called, — De Rosann would have 
yielded himself up entirely to despair, and have gree- 
dily seized the means of putting an end to a miserable 
existence if such means presented themselves, had 
not a distant hope — shining like a single star in a hori- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


55 


zon where all else was dark — prompted him to cling 
to life, and to support to the utmost of his ability the 
horrors that might be in store for him. This philo- 
sophical resignation, which could even tutor his mind 
to see a blooming future succeed the five years of dis- 
tress and of infamy to which he was now doomed by 
the laws of his country, was only the result of long 
reflection and self-communion. When the awful sen- 
tence was first pronounced upon him, his actions, his 
thoughts, and his words were those of a madman: 
days passed away — weeks flew over his head in his 
dreary cell at Bicetre — and at length the clamo- 
rous grief became tempered down into the moody 
resignation and the occasional indifference to every- 
thing, unless some tender recollection, some softening 
reminiscence awoke his better feelings, and wrung 
burning tears from his eyes, and bitter — Oh! good 
God ! how bitter — sighs from his breast. 


CHAPTER V. 

BELLE-ROSE AND CHAMPIGNON. 

The storm, which for many hours had threatened 
to hurst above the convicts’ heads, and which was im- 
pelled by a north-easterly breeze in the same direc- 
tion pursued by them, towards midday commenced 
with appalling violence. Deluges of rain drenched 
the wretched malefactors and their guards to the skin, 
ere a ruined shed could afford them a partial shelter. 
The thunder rolled along the face of heaven in long, 
loud, and frequent claps ; and the lightning followed 
each of those celestial cannon with vivid flashes. 
There needed but the earthquake to have made the 
war of elements complete. 

The Gendarmes and the galley-slaves huddled to- 


56 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


gether without respect for persons, the former now 
pressing close to the latter, wliose very contiguity a 
few minutes before, they would have deemed infec- 
tious. But the dilapidated barn, which formed their 
present refuge, was too much circumscribed as to 
space, to allow so many individuals to be greatly at 
their ease. The vulgar adage of “any port in a 
storm’’ was never better practised than on this occa- 
sion. 

The G'endarmes of France form without a doubt 
the first body of police in the world. Their well- 
caparisoned horses are invariably in much better con- 
dition than those belonging to the regular cavalry. 
Their uniform is also simple and elegant at the same 
time; and their appearance far more military than 
many of the horse regiments. In Paris they wear 
the bear-skin cap that usually dignifies the grenadier; 
in the departments this unwieldy head-dress is sup- 
plied by a neat cocked hat, worn “ athwart-ships.” 
They are moreover peculiarly clean in their persons 
— their sabres as well polished as a Parisian looking- 
glass — their aiguillettes as white as snow. There is 
not a speck of dirt upon their yellow belts, nor a 
mark of grease on their well-brushed blue coats. 
Their gray trowsers, with broad red stripes descend- 
ing from the waist to the boot, appear as if they 
had only just left the tailor’s shop ; and the fierce 
moustachio and the thick whisker give an additional 
warlike air to their fine persons. They are as re- 
markable for their civility to individuals who are for- 
tunate enough not to be in their custody, and who 
may chance to solicit information of them as to 
the turnings and deviations of a road, &c., as they are 
austere and repulsive to their prisoners. They are 
never known to receive a bribe — they may some- 
times render an unfortunate being a service — but this 
occasional generosity is the result of a sudden and 
evanescent philanthropy, and is not to be elicited by 
hire. Their wants are circumscribed to a little — a 
iQW sous in their pockets to purchase tobacco, d, petit 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


57 


verve de cognac the first thing in the morning, and a 
hottle of beer in the course of the day, are all they 
require beyond their regular meals. They are there- 
fore temperate and trust-worthy, incorruptible as to 
the integrity with which they discharge their duty, 
diligent, active, and penetrating. Their cunning and 
alertness in detecting crime, and in securing the au- 
thors of it, are proverbial : the quickness with which 
they follow up the slightest suspicion, and the im- 
portant and correct conjectures they form from the 
most trivial circumstance, when employed in hunting 
out a malefactor, are not less notorious. And such 
in habiliments, in principles, and in dispositions, were 
the Gendarmes who escorted the chain of convicts 
that were now delighted to seek the protection of an 
almost roofless barn against the violence of the storm. 
Let us take advantage of the moment to say one 
word relative to Belle-Rose. 

This hardy galerien ot forgat was a man of about 
thirty-five years of age. His life had been a continual 
scene of debauchery and licentiousness, save when the 
prisons of Brest or Toulon furnished him with quar- 
ters which the law carefully provided for so turbulent 
a subject. He had inherited some fortune on attain- 
ing his majority; but an ill-assorted marriage, vicious 
examples, bad associates, and a natural predilection 
for gaming, soon compelled him to descend to any 
means to obtain the necessary supplies for supporting 
his extravagances. The first time that he expiated a 
portion of his crimes at Brest, was for bigamy. He 
had inveigled a rich widow into the matrimonial 
noose, and was visited the next morning by his other 
wife, who doubtless called to congratulate him on 
his felicitous hymeneal speculation. An unwelcome 
eclair cissement took place ; a trial ensued — and the 
galleys received Monsieur Pierre Belle-Rose. But 
chains and lofty walls could neither curb his restless 
disposition, nor abridge, for any length of time, his 
personal freedom. At the expiration of three or four 
months he had enfranchised himself from the limits 


58 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


of his dungeon in company with another convict named 
Theodore, and was once more a free man in the open 
fields. Full of lively hope, and emboldened by suc- 
cess, he pushed bravely on towards Paris, having 
bidden adieu to the partner of his flight at a short dis- 
tance from Brest. The inconvenience of travelling 
in France without di passeport en r^gle* added to the 
dread of encountering the Gendarmes, who might 
demand his papers, and arrest him when they found 
he had none, obliged him, notwithstanding his un- 
wearied perseverance, to waste upwards of ten days 
in his journey from Brest to the metropolis. During 
this tedious march he was fain to make divers turn- 
ings, and to follow many circuitous routes which the 
traveller without fear would have avoided ; and he 
was not un frequently obliged to conceal himself for 
hours together in woods and dense thickets, whenever 
he arrived in the vicinity of a town, or in the neigh- 
bourhood of barracks. At length the stupendous 
domes and towers of Paris greeted his anxious eyes — 
and he felt his spirits rise, and his heart leap within 
him, as he entered the vast city by the Faubourg du 
Roule, about an hour after sunset, in the month of 
October. That day year he was again arrested, and was 
compelled to renew his acquaintance with the Pro- 
cureur du Poi. It appeared that he had contrived 
to hire a magnificent house, ready furnished in a most 
costly manner, of an old French baron who was de- 
sired by the physicians to retire for the summer 
months to his chateau in the country. A short time 
after the worthy peer’s back was turned upon Paris, 
Belle-Rose sold the furniture, the plate, the linen — in 
fine, the whole moveable contents of the hotel by a 
private auction. Having secured a considerable sum 
of money through the medium of this nefarious trans- 
action, he was about to decamp, when the porter of 
the house, whom he had expressly discharged the 

A passport that has gone through the necessary formalities 
to make it available. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


59 


moment Monseigneiir departed for his maison de 
campagne, apprised the venerable baron’s notary of 
-Pierre Belle-Rose’s proceedings, and thus procured 
his prompt arrest. Conveyed to Bicetre a second 
time, to be thence transported to Toulon, he was 
speedily recognised as a format evad^ (a galley-slave 
who has escaped) from the prisons of Brest. This 
unpleasant discovery was the cause of his^ person 
being again dragged before the court of Assize and an 
extra three years were tacked on to the five which 
the sentence of the court had already condemned him^ 
to pass at the galleys. To be brief, he escaped a 
second time with a person of the name of Ledoux, 
and managed to elude the vigilance of the police from 
that moment until about the period which marks the 
commencement of our tale. A swindling transaction, 
under peculiarly aggravating circumstances, once more 
gave him into the grasp of justice, and we now find 
him on his road to Brest, doomed to reside there ten 
years, unless his good fortune or his cunning restore 
him to liberty ere the expiration of that period. 

In person Belle-Rose was indifferently well-form- 
ed, being short and sturdy. ’ His shoulders were of 
an uncommon width — his neck short — his complexion 
florid — and a broad grin of good humour, which not un- 
frequently lulled aslee‘{)the eye of suspicion, was per- 
petually on his countenance. Like all Frenchmen he 
had a great deal of levity in his conversation; and 
often amongst his dissipated associates, at Paris had 
he maintained a general round of unceasing laughter, 
when he recounted the various exploits and espiegle- 
ries in which he had been the principal actor. Nerved 
with a certain philosophical indifference to passing 
events, even as prosperity or adversity affected him- 
self, he recked but little for the galleys of Brest, so 
long as health and vigour were spared him; particular- 
ly since he ever cherished the sanguine hope of being 
enabled to effect his escape within a short period. 

Such was the individual to whom De Rosann was 
shackled. Immediately in front of him, and attached 


60 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


to another convict, was a personage of quite a differ- 
ent character; and as they are both exceedingly ne- 
cessary to the plan of this tale, we hope the reader 
will deign to pardon us, if we bestow a little more 
of our tediousness’^ upon him, as Dogberry has jt, 
and request a moment’s attention to Monsieur Cham- 
pignon,* ex-restaurateur of the Boulevard du Tem- 
ple, and in happier times a successful rival of the far- 
famed Cadran Bleu. 

Now the Cadran Bleu, as we must inform our British 
readers who have not been in Paris, and who have 
never read the novels of Paul de Kock nor Auguste Ri- 
carde — but in these days, when the rage for travelling 
is so universal, few have not visited that gay city of 
luxury, pleasure and delight — the Cadran Bleu, or 
Blue Clock, is a famous eating-house, where mer- 
chants in a small way, the more respectable class of 
tradesmen, attorneys’ upper clerks, actors, the gentle- 
men who work in the government offices of their 
Excellencies the Ministers, and individuals of that 
stamp, celebrate weddings, birth-days, holidays, &c. 
The Cadran Bleu is consequently in great vogue; and 
it enjoyed, perhaps, even a higher repute in the times 
when Champignon opened a similar establishment, 
which, being in the same neighbourhood, was insti- 
tuted with the express determination of rivalling the 
monopolizing restaurant. 

Champignon was a short, fat, asthmatic man, with 
small gray eyes, a pug nose, a wide mouth, and a 
good set of teeth. His age might be about forty — 
but his wisdom kept not pace with his years; for he 
had scarcely two ideas, and those were connected with 
gastronomy. All \i\s similes were drawn from deli- 
cious viands — his metaphors bore perpetual reference 
to wines or liqueurs — and the only flowers of rhetoric 
he was ever known to garnish his discourse with, 
were universally founded on frica7ideaus, cotelettes 
a la jardiniere^ filet de hoeuf saute, 4'c., &c., &c. 

* The English of the word Champignon is “Mushroom.”-’ 


ALFRED DE ROSANI^ 


61 


It would have been well for Champignon had he 
attended to naught save his kitchen and his cookery- 
book; for his business throve even better than his 
most sanguine anticipations had expected, and the 
Cadran Rouge, or Red Clock, soon spread its fame 
throughout the whole neighbourhood 6f the Boulevard 
du Temple and the Marais; or, to use the chivalrous 
language of ancient days, its reputation was speedily 
bruited abroad.’^ But Champignon’s unlucky ideas 
of opposition and rivalry led him into a sad dilemma, 
which eventually caused him to take the high road 
for Brest, and which has now procured for ourselves 
and our readers the pleasure of his acquaintance. It 
appears that the worthy family of a grocer in the Rue 
Montmorenci, having resolved to celebrate the birth- 
day of some superannuated uncle, addressed a letter 
one morning by the two-penny post to the master of 
the Cadran Bleu, informing him that a party of five 
or six-and-twenty would dine at his house on a cer- 
tain day, and that he must prepare a sumptuous 
repast, at which no luxury nor expense was to be 
grudged, so that the whole affair might be on a mag- 
nificent scale. This welcome epistle enclosed a bank 
note of five hundred francs, or twenty pounds ster- 
ling of British money. It happened, through the 
negligence of the postman, that the letter fell into the 
hands of Champignon, who instantly wrote a reply, 
in which he declared that the Cadran Bleu had 
ceased to exist, that he had set up in the same line of 
business at the Cadran Rouge, that the ancient pro- 
prietor of the Cadran Bleu was a sleeping partner 
with him, and that if the family and its guests did 
not express the most unequivocal approbation of the 
way in which he would treat them, thek* money 
should be restored. This daring cheat succeeded. 
Little did the honest grocer care who “ founded the 
feast,” or at what house his friends partook of it, so 
long as it was good; and with regard to the perfection 
of the meats, the pastry, the dessert, and the wine, 
there was not a single dissentient voice. To be brief, 

VOL. I. — 6 


62 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


the stratagem passed off so well, that Champignon, 
emboldened by the event of his artifice, soon adopted 
such various and crooked devices to abstract the cus- 
tom of the Cadran Bleu for the benefit of the Cadran 
Rouge, that suspicion became changed into convic- 
tion, doubts gave way to damning proofs, and the un- 
fortunate wretch was condemned to accompany Pierre 
Belle-Rose and others on a small excursion to Brest. 

Hitherto Champignon. had not once opened his lips 
since the chain left the walls of Bicetre : he maintained 
a strict silence, and appeared to be engaged in deep 
thought. But his face did not wear a very melan- 
choly aspect ; neither did sighs nor tears betray any 
extraordinary degree of feeling as to his present 
situation. It was, however, very evident that an im- 
portant affair occupied his imagination ; for never did 
Newton, when reflecting upon the centripetal and 
centrifugal properties of matter, appear more oc- 
cupied by intense cogitation, than did Champignon 
at this moment. He seemed totally heedless of the 
weather, of his predicament, and of the presence of 
his companions. 

This uncommon taciturnity shortly attracted the 
attention of Belle-Rose. 

Messie^irs,’’ said he, addressing those convicts 
who were nearest, “ I dare swear this worthy gentle- 
man, our honourable companion in misfortune,’’ 
pointing to Champignon, “will enliven us with a 
song ; for he is apparently a vastly entertaining fellow, 
if we may judge by his loquacity.” 

A loud and boisterous laugh at the ex-restaura- 
teur^ s expense followed this speech, — for the hyper- 
bole, which represented his silence, particularly pleased 
the galley-slaves. 

“What is his name?” inquired Belle-Rose of a Gen- 
darme, when the mirth he had excited was somewhat 
subsided. 

“ Champignon,” was the abrupt answer. 

“ Ah ! who calls ?” exclaimed the object of the 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


63 


above interrogation, starting quickly from his medi- 
tative mood. 

“ Thine equal/’ returned Belle-Rose, affecting 
solemnity. 

Thou may’st be mine equal in misfortune, but 
certainly not in trussing a fowl/’ cried Champignon, 
peevishly. 

“ Sucre bleu ! if it be not my old acquaintance of 
the Cadran Rouge !” ejaculated Belle-Rose, after a 
moment’s hesitation. 

‘‘ In what kitchen have we met ? and what sauce 
have you invented ?” asked the gastronomer. 

“ Look me well in the face, my friend — and then 
recollect the gentleman who dined at your excellent 
house for a whole month, about two years ago, and 
who forgot to settle his little account ere his departure 
from Paris.” 

And who was so fond of my beefsteak with tomata 
sauce ?” inquired Champignon eagerly. 

The same,” answered Belle-Rose. 

‘‘ He always would have champagne frapp6 a la 
glace, ^ would he not ?” 

Precisely.” 

And that individual is yourself?” persisted Cham- 
pignon eagerly. 

My own identical self.” 

“You have good taste in commanding a dinner, I 
opine.” . 

“ And you in cooking it.” 

“Still it is disheartening,” observed Champignon, 
“ not to be paid for that which costs us occasionally 
much labour.” 

“ It is not a part of my system to draw the purse- 
strings at every instant,” returned Belle-Rose gravely; 
“particularly when one finds a good-natured fellow like 
yourself, my dear Champignon, who is so easy with 
his credit. I recollect full well how noble was your 
conduct. Whenever you said a word about the bill, 


♦ Iced. 


64 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


I praised your mutton cutlets, said your vol-au-vent 
was incomparable, and pledged my existence to the 
excellence of your wines ; upon which you retreated 
to your kitchen with a complacent smile and an audible 
chuckle. On those days I was served with a better 
dinner than ordinarily.’^ 

“ One of the identical vols-au~vent, to which you 
allude, would be no bad thing at this moment,” cried 
Champignon. 

If wishing and having were synonyms,” said 
Belle-Rose, ‘‘ we should all be immediately free and 
rich.” 

‘‘And seated at a dejeuner h lafourchettej’ added 
the gastronomer. 

“Faith, would we! eh. Be Rosann ?” inquired 
Belle-Rose, familiarly tapping the youth upon the 
shoulder. 

Alfred replied in the affirmative. We have already 
stated, or rather hinted, that certain interested motives, 
compelling the young man to look beyond the present 
hour, induced him to be condescending and civil to 
the experienced convict, from whose hardihood and 
knowledge of the hagne he hoped to reap consider- 
able advantages. A long pause ensued, which was 
only occasionally interrupted by one of the chain 
humming a tune, or a Gendarme’s swearing most 
bitterly and energetically against the rain that still 
continued to pour in torrents. 

“ Pray, what were you thinking of so earnestly ere 
now, Monsieur Champignon ?” inquired Belle-Rose, 
after a lengthened-silence. 

' “ I was racking my brains. — By-the-bye, talking 
of brains, how excellently were they served up at my 
house with the tete de veau a la tortue 

“ Those were calf’s brains.” 

“ Yes — yes ; but all brains are the same, you 
know.” 

“ Oh ! indeed — and those that you were racking,” 
cried Belle-Rose, with an ironical grin. 

“I was endeavouring to dicover a new method of 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


65 


cooking a mutton cutlet/’ answered Champignon 
seriously. 

And did you succeed ?” 

‘‘To my heart’s content; I shall call the viands 
thus arranged coutelettes a la quadrille.^^^ 

“Bravo!” cried Belle-Rose, laughing. “And 
does the Cadran Rouge — that summum honum of 
life — that king of restaurants — still exist?” 

“ Alas ! no ” — answered Champignon with a sigh. 

“ And Madame Champignon?” 

“ Cold in the earth as a kidney-potato,” was the 
answer, accompanied by another sigh more deplora- 
ble than the former. 

“ That comely creature!” cried Belle-Rose, affect- 
ing a melancholy tone of voice, and assuming a comic- 
serious air, on purpose to draw out the communica- 
tive gastronomer. 

“ She was, indeed, a rare morsel — plump as a 
partridge — lively as an eel — and tender as a chicken !” 
exclaimed Champignon, eulogising in his own pecu- 
liar style his departed consort.' “ Meseems that I 
see her still,” he continued, with tears in his eyes — 
“her sleeves tucked up above her elbows, beating 
eggs for my omelettes aux fines herhes, or picking 
raisins for the plumb-puddings with which those 
gluttonous and coarse-feeding English delight to 
gorge themselves.” 

“ Doubtless ’twas a pretty spectacle,” remarked 
Belle-Rose. 

“ In sooth was it — while her very mouth watered 
at the dainties she so craftily prepared.” 

“ Craftily, indeed! her reputation for disguising a 
cat en gibelotte, and for serving up horse-flesh as filet 
de hoeuf saute, was proverbial in the neighbourhood,” 
returned Belle-Rose. 

“Gad! you knew her well!” exclaimed the de- 
lighted Champignon, not at all ashamed of this expo- 


* A modern French gourmand lately invented coutelettes d la 
mazurka, 

6 * 


66 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


sure of the arcana of his late kitchen. A dearer 
woman never entered a larder, nor served vin ordU 
naire at thirty sous instead of seven^franc Bor- 
deaux!’^ 

At this moment a terrible noise was heard at the 
entrance of the barn that looked into a field adjoining 
the road, and half-a-dozen cows, impelled from their 
pasturage by the violence of the storm, and instinctive- 
ly seeking the shed in which they were penned up at 
night, rushed amongst the convicts and the Gendarmes 
in a manner the most unceremonious. An universal 
shout on the part of the besieged, at this rude attack, 
terrified the intrusive animals; and Champignon, who 
stood foremost, was overthrown in a heap of manure. 
His wig fell off; and in stretching out his hand to re- 
cover it, he caught hold of one of the cows’ tails, and 
was dragged several paces before he would relinquish 
his grasp, so perfectly was he overcome by fear as to 
be convinced in his own mind that he held his wig. 
The convict, who was chained to Champignon, was 
dragged forward with him, as the fetters that attached 
them together were not of an extraordinary length. 
The retreat of the cows at last restored order; and 
Champignon’s wig, discovered amidst the same dirt 
into which he himself had fallen, was restored in 
statu quo to its owner’s head by the hand of Belle- 
Rose, while a hearty laugh at the appearance of the 
ex-restaurateur, who was disguised in filth that even 
clung to h\s perruque, resounded from every indivi- 
dual present save himself and De Rosann. 

Never mind,” exclaimed Belle-Rose in a conso- 
latory tone of voice; “ the rain will wash it all off 
again.” 

That’s true,” returned Champignon with a horri- 
ble grimace; “but at present I feel like 2^ perdrix 
aux choux.^’ 

In about a quarter of an hour the clouds cleared 
partially away from the face of heaven — the sun 
broke through the opening vapours — and the Gen- 
darmes once more put their prisoners in motion. A 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


67 


very short distance was to be completed ere they 
would arrive at Pontchartrain, where a light repast of 
beans, bread, and water, would be dealt out to those 
unhappy beings whom the laws of their country had 
condemned to terrible penances and privations. 


CHAPTER VI. 

UNCLE THOMAS. 

Arrived at Pontchartrainy tbe prisoners were con- 
ducted to a miserable inn or cabaret^ where their 
meagre fare was speedily provided for them in the 
kitchen, while the Gendarmes sate down in an ante- 
chamber to a substantial breakfast of cold meat and wi ne, 
which latter is generally known in France by the name 
of piquette. De Rosann rejected the odious pulse, 
but was fain to devour the bread to repress the crav- 
ings of his appetite: Champignon inquired if he could 
not be unchained from his comrade for a moment, 
and be accommodated with a saucepan, &c., to cook 
his beans d la maitre hotel; but on receiving an 
answer in the negative, he remained sulkily silent: 
and Belle-Rose occupied himself with the savoury 
spectacle of a couple of fowls that were roasting be- 
fore the fire, under the care of a little girl of about 
thirteen or fourteen years of age, whom the Gen- 
darmes called Felicity. 

Presently a bright idea struck Belle-Rose. He beck- 
oned the girl towards him, and seizing an opportunity 
when the backs of the Gendarmes were turned against 
the prisoners, he began the following conversation in a 
low whisper. His companions saw that a joke was in 
train; and not only on account of Belle-Rose’s noto- 
rious facetious disposition, but also in strict observ- 
ance of the principles of mutual abettance and aid 


68 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


which were never swerved from by them, they fore- 
bore to notice that anything was going on. 

My little girl,’^ said Belle-Rose, with a serious 
countenance, “ where are your father and mother?” 

“ Father ’s dead — but mother ^s alive,” was the 
reply. 

“Your father ^s dead? Alas! alas!” murmured the 
.convict, wiping his eyes: “and the good old lady — 
how is she?” 

“ Is it mother that you mean?” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ She’s not very old.” 

“No — no; the young lady, I meant — I knew she 
was not old; besides, your age proves that she is still 
in the bloom of youth.” 

“ Mother is not a lady, neither; she keeps this inn. 
That’s a lady, who lives at the white chateau yon- 
der.” 

“Well — well — your mother, my dear — how is 
she?” 

“ She ’s got nothing ailing her, except her corns, 
that I know^of,” replied the girl ingenuously; “and 
they didn’t prevent her from going to the neighbour- 
ing market this morning.” 

“ And how far off is that market?” 

“About a league across the fields.” 

“ How unfortunate!” returned Belle-Rose, assum- 
ing a melancholy air. 

“ Why?” asked the girl, wondering what could be 
the meaning of these multifarious interrogations. 

“ Why! my love — why! Do you actually inquire 
why"^ — Have you never heard of a relative on your 
mother’s side — ?” 

“Him who was a night-man, do you mean?” 

“No — no,” said Belle-Rose, with difficulty sup- 
pressing a smile. 

“ My mother’s brother, then — to be sure.” 

“ You have never yet seen him?” whispered Belle- 
Rose, fearful of proceeding too precipitately. 

“Not since I was five years old; he went as a 


Alfred de rosann. 


69 


soldier in 1819, I have been told,’^ returned the 
girl. 

Embrace me, Felicite — embrace me, dear child! 
But no — I do not wish that those men should know 
who I am.’^ 

And who are you?’’ inquired Felicite in astonish- 
ment. 

‘‘Thine uncle!” answered Belle-Rose solemnly. 

“My uncle! I always heard he was a fine tall 
man.” 

“ Oh! yes — and so I was; until misery, my child, 
reduced me to the condition in which you now see 
me.” 

“ Does misfortune make people grow shorter, then?” 
asked the girl, with the most deplorable ignorance de- 
picted on her countenance. 

“ Certainly, niece ! I became a foot and a half shorter 
in one night through excess of wo.” 

“ Ah! that’s what makes the hump-backed barber, 
who’s dying for love of mother, so little.” 

“ To be sure it is. And do you not pity me?” 

“Faith, do I! But how came you with those 
naughty men, my dear uncle?” inquired Felicite, cast- 
ing a fearful glance upon the convicts. 

“ For doing a good action, my love.” 

“ I thought only bad people were chained to- 
gether?” 

“ 0 no — the good are often condemned unjustly, as 
I was,” continued Belle-Rose. “ I saw two men fight- 
ing in Paris — I ran up to separate them — they swore 
I was a thief, and that I intended to take advantage 
of their situation to steal their watches; I was accord- 
ingly arrested and carried off to gaol. I was tried and 
condemned!” 

“Poor uncle! and what is that handsome young 
man, who is chained to you, to be punished for?” 
asked the girl in as low a whisper as possible, point- 
ing towards De Rosann. 

“ For poisoning a gentleman and his wife, together 
with their seventeen children,” was the answer. 


70 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


And that fat old fellow?’’ continued Felicite, al- 
luding to Champignon. 

“For making pies of dead bodies.” 

■ “Good God! with what a set of villains you are 
obliged to associate, dear uncle. — But what can I do 
for you? I’m sure if mother were here, she’d endea- 
vour to make you comfortable; and those nasty beans, 
and that cold water and sour bread, are not good for 
a person condemned to walk all day long in chains.” 

“Kind creature! I want for nothing.” 

“ A glass of wine?” 

“ 0 no — I seldom touch anything strong; my ha- 
bits are naturally temperate.” 

“A single glass — merely to recruit your spirits,” 
persisted the girl tenderly. 

“ Well — one glass, then — but only one.” 

Felicit6 was about to disappear, to seek .the lower 
regions of the house (or in other words the cellar), 
when Belle-Rose called her back. 

“ My love — for whom are those roasted fowls?” 

“ 0 we shall keep them till they’re cold, for any 
one who happens to drop in during the day, to take a 
hasty morsel.” 

“ Alas! ’tis a long time since I tasted meat; and for 
a whole fortnight I have eaten nothing at all,” said 
the convict mournfully. 

“Will you have those fowls? for I’m certain that 
if mother were here, she would willingly give them 
to you; and at her return from market, she’ll applaud 
me for what I am doing.” 

“ Since you offer so kindly, I must e’en accept 
them,” said Belle-Rose, a smile of triumph playing 
upon his lips. “But, stay, my love: do you wrap 
them up in paper, and I’ll consign them to my pock- 
ets on the sly; for the Gendarmes must not be allowed 
to catch a glimpse of our motions.” 

“ They are very severe, then?” 

“ Yes — in the town they are obliged to be so: when 
no stranger’s eyes are upon us, we may do as w^e 
like.” 


Alfred de rosann. 


71 


Felicite soon robbed the spit of its savoury burden; 
and having enveloped the fowls in paper, she cun- 
ningly transferred them to Belle-Rose’s pockets, while 
his comrades turned away their eyes, affecting the ut- 
most ignorance of the whole transaction. 

“What shall I say to mother for you, uncle?” in- 
quired the girl, when the above ceremony of convey- 
ance was accomplished. 

“ Say ! — say anything you like — that is, every- 
thing kind and tender, my love; and rest assured, God 
will prosper you for what you have done.” 

“ Do you really think God saw me give you those 
fowls, and that he will bless me for it?” 

“ Most certainly: and the more you give, the more 
he will favour your undertakings through life. By- 
the-bye, my dear niece — on second thoughts — since 
you are so kind — although my habits be sober, and I 
rarely drink aught, save pure spring water — still I 
may as well accept a glass of wine — for my legs are 
weak, and my strength is declining — and to-night I 
will remember you in my prayers.” 

The wine was tendered with as good a grace as 
were the fowls; and Champignon undertook to carry 
a bottle, on a hint being given him to that effect by 
Belle-Rose, whose pockets were already full. 

In about a quarter of an hour the Gendarmes finished 
their last glass oi piquette^ and pushed aside the cold 
beef off which they had abundantly led, although 
Champignon did mutter between his teeth that it 
would have been better in a friveau. They then called 
for their cups of coffee — those universal concomitants 
to a Frenchman’s meals — and two little glasses of cog-- 
nac. While they were discussing these supernume- 
rary dainties, an elderly woman, whom Felicite in- 
stantly called “ Mother,” entered the room. Having 
respectfully saluted the Gendarmes, with whom she 
appeared to be acquainted, and having cast a look of 
mingled commiseration and contempt on the prison- 
ers, she laid aside her cloak, deposited her basket in a 
corner, passed into the kitchen, and inquired of her 


72 


ALFRED DE R08ANN. 


daughter Who had been at the house during her 
absence?’^ * 

My dear mother, something very extraordinary 
h^ happened,’^ began Felicite, drawing her parent 
aside, and speaking in a whisper. 

• Ah ! what is it, my ohild 

“ Have you not often spoken of uncle Thomas, 
who’s gone as a soldier ?” 

“ Certainly child : proceed !” 

“ You know the fowls you left me to roast ?” 

“ They are cooked by this time — eh ?” 

0 yes — and gone, too.” 

Gone ! whither are they gone ?” 

“ Into uncle Thomas’s pockets.” 

Uncle Thomas ! has he been here ?’^ 

“And a bottle of that wine,” continued Felicite, 
“ which stands in the corner of the cellar next the 
stairs, and into which we put the logwood and brandy 
last month, you know.” 

“The girl’s mad ! What has all this to do with 
uncle Thomas ?” 

“ Only that the wine’s gone along with the fowls.” 

During this brief discourse, Felicite cast many 
knowing looks towards Belle-Rose, who made the 
most horrible grimaces, with a thousand shakes of the 
head and warnings of the hands, intended as signs to 
induce the girl to silence. She, however, mistook 
them for expressions of gratitude, and persisted in 
returning all that dumb show with sundry significant 
winks, while Belle-Rose was determined not to pay 
for the fowls, whatever might be the result, and 
Champignon watched the extraordinary pantomine 
with eyes of the most stupid astonishment, being quite 
decided in his own mind that their ignorance how to 
cook some dish was the cause of the whole. 

“ Why didn’t uncle Thomas stay to take some soup 
with us, Felicit6 ?” inquired the mother, still in a 
whisper. 

“ So I dare say he will, if the Gendarmes allow 
him,” was the prompt reply. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN* 


73 


How — speak — girl!’’ 

‘^Dear uncle!” he’s amongst those convicts.” 

Amongst the convicts!” shrieked the poor woman 
aloud, to the astonishment of all present, save herself, 
her daughter, and Belle-Rose. 

^^Yes — yes,” cried Felicite in the same audible 
tone of voice, forgetful of Belle-Rose’s injunction to 
secresy, and heedless of the continued signs he was 
making, like the telegraph on the towers of Saint 
Sulpice, or the superb dwelling of his Excellency the 
Minister of Marine, in Paris. 

During the confabulation between the mother and 
daughter which we have so faithfully related. Cham- 
pignon’s ear caught the word volaille. We have 
before stated that he had already made up his^mind as 
to the nature and origin of the said discourse, to which 
the girl’s repeated nods and winks gave an additional 
air of mystery. He therefore thought ife» was now 
high time to interfere ; and stepping forward as far as 
the chains would permit him, for his comrade would 
not move an inch, he said in a dulcet tone of voice, 
‘‘ Madame, I think I can enlighten you relative to 
the object of your discussion.” 

Pardie exclaimed the landlady; that’s exactly 
what I want. I and my daughter are talking about a 
couple of fowls — ” 

Ah! ah !” interrupted Champignon with a com- 
placent smile : I’m at home there !” 

“The devil you are! and where are they ?” 

“ I thought — 0 I find I am — that is,” stammered 
Champignon, with a disconsolate look, “I — I — am. a 
little — mistaken.” 

“Come — come!” cried the good woman: “no 
equivocation, my worthy fellow.” 

“ If I be in the wrong, Madame,” said Champignon 
meekly, “ I am willing to make every apology.” 

“ Apology — apology ! The greedy dog !” scream- 
ed the infuriate landlady ; and rushing upon the gas- 
tronomer, like a lioness loosened from her cage, she 
soon left the traces of her nails upon his two cheeks, 

VOL. I. — 7 


74 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


tore his wig from his head, and broke the bottle of 
wine in the scuffle. The precious juice drenched 
Champignon’s small-clothes throughout, and ran upon 
the floor in many meandering streams. This lament- 
able sight only irritated the already outrageous ter- 
magant the more ; and God knows how the conflict 
might have ended with regard to Champignon, had 
it not been interrupted by the timely aid of the 
Gendarmes. 

Is that the thief, Felicite ?” shrieked the landlady, 
pointing to Champignon, when she had partially 
recovered breath. 

‘‘ Thief ! No — mother : that’s the poor man who 
is condemned for having made pies of dead bodies.” 

A roar of laughter followed this declaration, while 
Champignon-, stupid with astonishment, rage, and 
terror, could not find words to justify himself against 
so awful an accusation. 

“ In the name of God, explain these mysteries, 
Felicite,” cried the exasperated parent, when silence 
was again established. 

‘‘ Mother,” replied the girl, I told you uncle 
Thomas took the fowls, which I gave him ; and he is 
amongst those prisoners.” 

‘‘ Where — where — 0 where is my poor brother ?” 
whimpered the landlady, her wrath subsiding into 
tears. 

‘‘There!” answered Felicite, pointing to Belle- 
Rose. 

“That my brother Thomas ! that your uncle !” 
cried the woman in a contemptuous tone of voice. 
“ No — no : Thomas never was such a mannikin as 
that !” 

“ He grew a foot and a half shorter in one night, 
mamma !” 

“ Begone, insolence !” roared the infuriate mother, 
dealing a tremendous box on the ears to her daughter, 
who rah out of the room weeping bitterly. 

“You cruel old jade!” cried Belle-Rose, really 
pitying the unfortunate girl. ‘‘ I deceived your poor 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


75 


Felicite,” continued the convict, got the roast fowls 
from her — and ate them — ’’ 

You have eaten two roast fowls to your own 
share!” thundered the irritated landlady, while the 
Gendarmes, who held her, did not attempt to restrain 
their laughter. 

I and that gentleman,” returned Belle-Rose, 
pointing to Champignon, who was more thunder- 
struck at this second than at the first accusation thus 
brought against him within a quarter of an hour. 

“ If that be the case, my good woman, it is useless 
to grumble,” said a Gendarme: “the English have a 
proverb to the effect ‘ that the least said, the soonest 
mended.’ ” 

“That’s no consolation for the loss of my fowls,” 
muttered the hag, as the chain moved out of the 
kitchen, attended by the guard. 

“ Good dav, dear sister,” cried Belle-Rose with a 
laugh: “ and never forget brother Thomas. Felicite’s 
kindness has saved me the trouble of changing a Na- 
poleon,” 

The wrathful landlady’s response was wafted to 
the winds of heaven, unheard, unrecked; and Belle- 
Rose amused his companions with a recital of the 
stratagem by which he procured the dainties that had 
caused so much disturbance. The Gendarmes cared 
but little for these kinds of freaks on the part of their 
prisoners; particularly as they were so frequent as to 
repel almost the possibility of entirely suppressing 
them. De Rosann ventured a forced laugh at the low 
cheat; and Champignon made a remark expressive of 
his wonder that Belle-Rose did not ask Felicite for 
water-cresses to serve up with the fowl: he moreover 
added that he had a slight recollection of having read, 
in his youth, a tale about a country where there were 
no days, but all nights, as the book itself was called 
Arabian Nights — Arabia being a tract of land border- 
ing on Poland — in which tale there was mention 
made of a wonderful lamp, and a man’s passing him- 
self oflf as a boy’s uncle, or something of the kind: he 


76 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


also remembered that the same country was famous 
for rago^lts, and concluded his clear and comprehen- 
sive elucidations with an equally plain description of 
the way to dress those dishes cl la Frangciis. 


CHAPTER VII. 

^ THE PASSPORTS. 

It was already eight o’clock in the evening when 
the chain entered the streets of Verneuil. A tedious 
day’s march, rendered more fatiguing than usual by 
the muddy state of the roads, and the vacillation of 
the weather, which had repeadedly changed from 
storm to sunshine, and from sunshine to storm alter- 
nately, as if the whole sway of nature were submitted 
to the caprice of a woman’s mind — the tedious day’s 
march, I say, was terminated at the gates of the prison 
wherein the convicts were destined to pass the night. 
The massive doors were speedily opened by a sulky- 
looking gaoler, whose stern countenance only relaxed 
into an expression of civility when the chain had 
entered the court-yard of the prison, and the Gen- 
darmes had closed the rear. 

The convicts were detached from each other, and 
conducted by twos, or threes, or fours, to different 
cachots, according to the size of those dungeons. 
Some meagre soup, mouldy bread, parched peas, and 
cold water, were then distributed amongst them; 
and the doors of their cells closed upon them for the 
night. 

It happened that De Rosann, Eelle-Rose, and 
Champignon were confined together in the same 
hole; and they all three congratulated themselves on 
this circumstance. De Rosann was pleased, because 
he had become accustomed to the garrulity of his 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


77 


comrade; Belle-Rose was himself delighted that 
chance had thus thrown them together, as he intended 
to make use of De Rosann’s experience at the hagne 
to farther his own plans of escape; and Champignon 
preferred being locked up with one, who, having 
tasted his dishes at the Cadran Rouge, could compli- 
ment him upon their excellence. 

^‘ But,’^ thought our hero within himself, “ how 
difierent are these from former times! Instead of 
domestics to pamper my appetite with a variety of 
luxuries, a sulky gaoler flings me a morsel of bread, 
as if I were a dog; damp walls replace the gorgeous 
curtains that were drawn around me at night: coarse 
straw supports my aching head, beneath which downy 
pillows once were laid; rogues, murderers, thieves, 
are my companions — my associates. Oh! Eloise — 
Eloise! didst thou now see thy still faithful Alfred!’’ 

A violent flood of tears interrupted those bitter re- 
flections; and Belle-Rose, instead of laughipg at that 
which the other convicts would have called puerile 
grief, endeavoured with rude consolation to compose 
the feelings of the unhappy young man. 

Come, my dear De Rosann, don’t be chicken- 
hearted,” cried he; ‘^if you will but follow my ad- 
vice, when we are together at Brest, you shall soon 
have the clef des champs* at your disposal. Only 
half an. hour ago, as we were standing in the yard to 
be unchained, while those cursed Gendarmes levelled 
their carabines at us, I noticed amongst a group of 
individuals in prison for want of passports, a person 
whom I knew at the galleys of Toulon, and who 
escaped with me.” 

‘‘Did he recognise you?” inquired Champignon. 

“ Recognise me! Par5/ew,did he,” returned Belle- 
Rose emphatically; “ he owes me an eternal debt of ' 
gratitude.” 

* Literally, “ the key of the country ;” metaphorically used 
for “ personal freedom.” 

1 * 


78 


Alfred de rosann. 


Ah! how so? did you cook him a dinner?’’ asked 
the curious gastronomer. 

« No — but I saved him from the gallows by knock- 
ing him on the head, and leaving him for dead,” was 
the reply. 

I have done the same to many a rabbit,” said 
Champignon complacently, “ although not for the 
same purpose.” 

Well — if you can manage to hold your tongue for 
a minute, I will tell you how 1 rendered so essential 
a service to Auguste Ledoux. You know that he 
and I escaped from Toulon together ; but you do not 
know that when we got into the open fields, two 
Gendarmes pursued us on horse-back, ventre a terre.^ 
We led them a rare dance amongst the woods, &c., till 
Auguste could not move another inch. What was to 
be done ? the police-officers were close upon us : only 
one moment remained for reflection — but that mo- 
ment was enough for me. I unburdened my mind to 
AOguste, who, however, did not at all relish the 
scheme. That was nothing — I knew it was for his 
good — so I cut short his objections by putting it in 
practice, and knocking him down with all my force. 
He lay senseless upon the grass — I rifled his pockets, 
and turned them inside out ; and then ran away as fast 
as my legs could carry me. It all happened as I foresaw. 
The Gendarmes wasted their time over Auguste, 
whom they firmly believed I had murdered and plun- 
dered ; and when I was well concealed in the wood, 
they resumed their search after me, intending to take 
charge of the corpse — as they supposed it to be — on 
their return. But all their cunning was ineffectual ; 
they passed my hiding-place about a thousand times — 
and late at night gave up their task to Veturn home. 
Meantime Auguste had come to himself, and had also 
betaken to the woods: everything thus turning out 
as I anticipated. In the course of the next day we 
encountered each other — he embraced me as his sa- 


Synonymous with “ at full gallop.” 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


79 


viour, and in less than a fortnight we dined together 
at Verey’s.” 

“And pray what did you have for dinner?’^ in- 
quired Champignon, in a deliberate tone of voice. 

Sacre nom de dieii ! do you think I recollect 
those kind of trifles !” answered Belle-Rose. “ But 
talking of dinners puts me in mind of a certain couple 
of fowls, which, if you have no objection, messieurs, 
we will divide forthwith.” 

By this time De Rosann’s mind was partially com- 
posed, and he resolved not to forget in future those 
principles of philosophical resignation which he had 
before determined to adopt. Belle-Rose felicitated 
him with much warmth and apparent sincerity on 
this happy change. He repeated his argurnents on 
the necessity of maintaining one’s courage in hours of 
difiiculty and distress ; he awakened fresh hopes in 
Alfred’s breast relative to an escape, and insisted on 
his partaking of the dainties which were so cunningly 
procured at Pontchartrain. 

The few rays of light that struggled against ob- 
scurity in the cachot, where this festivity took place, 
were allowed to enter by means of a small square 
trap, or guichet, which had been perforated in the 
massive door for the express purpose ; and as the orb 
of day gradually descended towards the western hori- 
zon, the gloom increased vvithin that dreary dungeon. 
Presently a total darkness enveloped the three pris- 
oners, just as their savoury meal was concluded ; and 
Champignon — having in vain regretted his inability, 
for want of proper utensils, to hash the remainder of 
the fowls at the next morning’s breakfast — stretched 
himself to sleep upon the straw : dreaming of kitch- 
ens, of sancepans, of viands, and of costly dishes. 0 
that man were as happy in reality as he often is in 
imagination ! Alas ! that the dreams of riches make 
the waking truths of poverty the more severe ! 

A solemn silence reigned throughout the prison, 
only interrupted at long intervals by the barking of 
the gaoler’s dog, or the clanking of his keys as he 


80 


ALFRED DE ROSANN* 


made his occasional rounds ; and then the rays of his 
lanthorn illuminated the cachot for a moment as he 
passed by, and disappeared as suddenly, to leave the 
inmates of that dungeon plunged in even darker gloom 
than before. De Rosann and Belle-Rose could not sleep 
so soon as their companion ; but they endeavoured to 
compose themselves to slumber, and therefore re- 
frained from conversation. The ideas of the former 
were reflected back to other times, when fortune 
smiled upon him, and life’s prospective joys were 
sweet — when opulence, friendship, society, and love, 
were present, to smooth his path through the world, 
and rob his pillow of anxiety — when the dreams of his 
youth were not fraught with bitterness, nor his con- 
templation with care — and when his brow was un- 
clouded, his footstep free, and his bearing proud. He 
had that morning only, bade a mental adieu to the fair- 
est girl beneath the canopy of heaven — he had seen her 
pale cheek, Jier dishevelled hair, and a tear upon that 
cheek, and he knew that the despair pictured on her an- 
gelic countenance, and the glistening tears, were for 
him. But he mistrusted not her fidelity — he knew her 
troth was sacred — he could not for an instant doubt the 
veracity-of her noble and enthusiastic mind. Pure as 
she was beautiful, aflectionate as she was pure, igno- 
rant as to the meaning of her love, knowing only that 
it existed, and that De Rosann was its object, unchang- 
ing, unchangeable — Eloise was as free from those 
feminine vacillations, unworthy caprices, and capa- 
bility of change, as the seraphim, which, according 
to Mahommedan mythology, stand around Allah’s 
throne. And when she sighed “ Farewell !” to him 
in his prison — when with agonizing feelings, with a 
heart almost broken, and with unutterable anguish 
rending her inmost soul, she was torn away from his 
last embrace, the night before the fatal morn on which 
the chain of convicts left Bicetre — she betrayed that 
deeply-rooted affection, that permanent love, that in- 
effable attachment, which no time could change, no 
number of years obliterate, no circumstance destroy. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


81 


This De Rosann well knew; and the reflection soothed 
him in his dungeon. 

An hour more had elapsed since the worthy gastro- 
nomer’s eyes were temporarily closed against his mis- 
fortunes, when suddenly a low voice at ihQ guichet 
called “ Belle-Rose ! Belle-Rose !” 

“ Who speaks ?” inquired the convict; ‘‘was it you, 
De Rosann ?” 

“Belle-Rose — my friend — listen !” continued the 
voice. 

“Assuredly it is the ghost of my grandfather,” 
cried Pierre ; “ and if so, it would be as well to arouse 
this lubberly, snoring, kitchen-fed glutton, to make 
mince-meat of him.” 

“ Nonsense, my dear Belle-Rose,^^ exclaimed the 
voice ; “ look towards the guichet.’^ 

“Nothing is more easy,” replied the convict; 
“but as for seeing anything, that is quite different.” 

“Well, well ; ’tis I — your friend.” 

“And who the devil is my friend ?” 

“Auguste Ledoux, that was,” said the voice. 

“ And what is he now ?” asked Belle-Rose. 

“ Auguste Leblond,” was the answer. 

“ The ship is always the same, I hope, notwith- 
standing the change of colours,” remarked Belle-Rose, 
coolly. 

“ Precisely,” said the man at the guichet. 

“ But wherefore another name amongst friends ?” 

“ My dear Belle-Rose, I serve a good cause, and 
you must join me. As a proof of my gratitude towards 
an old friend, and of my unalterable principle, I am 
now about to render you a most important service. 
Who is with you ?” 

“We are three.” 

“ Who' are they ?” 

“ Friends. One is a drunken cook, fast asleep ; the 
other is a young man whom you may trust.” 

“ Is he Alfred de Rosann ?” inquired Leblond, 
hastily. 


82 


ALFRED DE ROSANNT. 


The same/’ replied Belle-Rose, while the youth’s 
heart beat quickly. 

Thank God ! then my task is easily and soon 
done !” exclaimed the mysterious individual at the 
guichet. 

“ Do you know, Leblond — ” began Belle-Rose. 

What ?” / 

‘^Thatlbegin to think you are talking infernal 
nonsense,” added the convict, coolly. 

“Patience- — patience, I implore ; and you will be 
convinced of my wish to serve your interests.” 

“ Well, then, I will not interrupt you.” 

“ Of course,” said Leblond, in a whisper still, “ you 
do not intend to remain long at Brest ?” 

“Not longer than you and I did at Toulon,” was 
the significant answer. 

“ You must escape with De Rosann, my dear Belle- 
Rose ; it is absolutely necessary that you should aid 
each other.” 

“ It was already my intention,” returned Pierre. 

“That is as it should be, and all will go on well. 
Here are two passports for you, signed at the Pre- 
fecture de Police at Paris, and made out for Brest, 
St. Malo, or Havre-de-Grace ;” and with these words 
Leblond threw a'paper parcel into the cachot. 

Mille tonnerres exclaimed Belle-Rose, in the 
greatest possible astonishment; “how did you pro- 
cure these documents ?” 

“ That must remain a mystery. To-morrow morn- 
ing, when you read them by daylight, the correctness 
of their contents will prove the truth of what I have 
already affirmed relative to my wish and power to 
serve you : it will moreover help to convince you of 
the necessity of following the line of conduct I shall 
now chalk out.” 

“But we shall be searched at Brest,” interrupted 
Belle-Rose, mournfully, “and our passports will be 
taken from us.” 

“ All that is guarded against,” said Leblond, some* 
what impatiently. “ You will each put your passport 


ALFRED DE ROSAl^N. 


83 


in your left hand breast pocket : when the hardy 
turnkey at the bagne is examining you, whisper in 
his ear the words ‘ La France and he will not 
touch that pocket. The same turnkey, whose name 
is Plombier, will aid your escape, which, when ef- 
fected, must be directed to an useful purpose. So 
soon as you are free, proceed — separately or together, 
it is the same thing — to one of the towns for which 
your passports are signed, and cause them to be coun- 
tersigned for Paris ; then push boldly forwards towards 
the capital. On your arrival, hasten to the Fue de 
la Chanoinesse, in the Island of the City, close by 
the cathedral of Notre-Dame, and at Number — , in- 
quire for me by the name of Auguste Leblond.’’ 

And to what is all that to lead V’ asked Belle- 
Rose. 

To raise your fallen fortunes,’’ was the reply ; 
and,” he added, with a peculiar emphasis, “ to restore 
to wealth, honour, rank, and love, those who have 
been harshly dealt with.” 

The words went like balm to the heart of De 
Rosann* 

“I left Paris this morning at day-break,” continued 
Leblond, hastily ; “ my object was to fall in with 
Alfred de Rosann and Pierre Belle-Rose. I arrived 
at this town, purposely boasted at a public-house that 
I had no passport, was arrested, and, as I anticipated, 
was brought to prison. Now that my task is com- 
pleted, I shall produce my papers to-morrow morning, 
say that I thought I had left them behind the day 
before, and thus procure my liberty.” 

- But how are you free to walk about the prison at 
your discretion ?” asked Belle-Rose, scarcely know- 
ing what to think of all that Leblond had told him. 

‘‘ Only felons are locked up,” replied the singular 
individual, whose behaviour was so deeply enveloped 
in mystery. ‘‘But I must now retire: good night 
— and remember the magic words ‘ La France P ” 

Belle-Rose would have interrogated him farther ; 
but the sounds of retreating steps showed that Leblond 


84 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


had withdrawn from the guichet. Some minutes 
elapsed before either he or De Rosann opened his 
lips. At length Belle-Rose broke the silence. 

Ledoux, or Leblond, or whatever his name may 
be, is one of three things/^ said he. 

Which are they V’ asked De Rosann. 

“ He is either an infernal liar — an arrant madman 
— or a deuced clever fellow.’^ 

There was too much system in all he said, besides 
the uselessness of deceiving us,” said Alfred, to 
make me think him a madman or a liar ; but to-morrow 
morning will prove beyond a doubt the truth or falsity 
of his assertions.” 

Yes ; and in the meantime let us search for the 
passports,” returned Belle-Rose. “ I have them,” 
he added, in about a minute; “pray to God, De 
Rosann — if thou can’st pray — that they may be 
genuine ! And if they be, then is Leblond’s power 
great indeed; for I am almost certain that Prince 
Polignac himself could scarcely procure such docu- 
ments from the Prefecture de Police, 

“ Till to-morrow, then, lay aside all conjecture; and 
endeavour to snatch a few hours of repose,” cried our 
hero. 

“Good night, De Rosann; and, once more — may 
fortune favour our undertakings!” rejoined Belle- 
Rose. 

“Amen!” 

And the cachot was wrapt in silence. 

It was not until a very late hour that De Rosann sank 
into an uneasy slumber; but he awoke early the fol- 
lowing morning refreshed, and comparatively in good 
spirits. He recalled his scattered ideas, and endea- 
voured to separate the real from the imaginary. 
Amongst the latter was for a moment ranked every- 
thing connected with Leblond, till a little mature re- 
flection assured him of the truth of that individual’s 
appearance at the guichet, and brought to his mind 
the substance of what he had said. Belle-Rose soon 
awoke, and the passports were speedily produced, 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


85 


while Champignon still remained locked in the em- 
braces of sleep. The anxious eyes of the two prison- 
ers greedily sought the contents of the papers; and 
their hearts leapt within them as they noticed in the 
dim twilight that these documents were really genu- 
ine! The very descriptions of their persons were 
correct to a nicety; and on the back was the regular 
endorsement and the red stamp of the Prefecture de 
Police. The names alone were changed; De Rosann 
was thenceforth to be called Jules de Remonville — 
and Belle-Rose, Henri Mercier. We shall, however, 
continue to designate them by their real appellations, 
to prevent confusion in the progress of our tale. 

Scarcely had De Rosann and Belle-Rose congratu- 
lated themselves on the genuineness of their papers, 
and consequently on the unlimited confidence to be 
now attached to Leblond’s assertions, when Cham- 
pignon began to give evident signs of an inclination 
to shake off his slumbers, by yawning, and stretching 
out his arms in a most unceremonious manner. The 
sun had not yet risen; and the twilight entered but 
partially into the narrow cell, barely sufficient to allow 
Alfred and his comrades to peruse their passports a 
few minutes before Champignon awoke. The gastro- 
nomer inquired what o’clock it was; and on being 
told that in a quarter of an hour the Gendarmes would 
call them to renew their march, he declared his inten- 
tion of rising and washing himself. 

‘‘ As for rising,” said Belle-Rose, that is not very 
difficult, seeing you have no bed-clothes to kick off; 
but as for washing yourself, otherwise than at the 
pump, when the gaoler opens the doors, you need not 
flatter yourself you will have the opportunity.” 

I beg your pardon,” returned Champignon, gent- 
ly ; “ may I never spit another partridge if there be 
not a species of wooden trough or ewer in this cor- 
ner.” 

“Ah! there really is something,” remarked Belle^ 
'Rose, carelessly. 

“’Tis as I tell you,” muttered Champignon; and 

VOL. I. — 8 


86 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


he reached forward his hand to grasp the utensil, when 
the machine snapped with a rattle, and the gastrono- 
mer gave a terrible cry, as if he were bitten by a ser- 
pent. 

DiahleP’ exclaimed Belle-Rose: ‘^what’s the 
matter now?’’ 

My hand! my hand!” yelled Champignon. 

‘‘As 1 am a living being he has caught his arm in a 
rat-trap,” said De Rosann, hastening to disengage the 
ex-restaurateur^ s member from so ignoble a jeopardy. 

“Thank God!” ejaculated Champignon, when he 
had regained thefree exercise of his hand; “these digits 
were meant to pluck partridges and pigeons, and not 
to be caught in rat-traps. A man may as soon think 
of finding a poulet truffe on a ploughman’s table, as 
a wash-hand-stand in a cachot.^’ 

“ When you leave the galleys, Champignon, you 
must give lectures on gastronomy,” said Belle-Rose. 

“You are laughing at me, my friend; but I would 
wager a mess of pieds de mouton against a plate of 
soupe maigre that you do not know how many dif- 
ferent dishes there are in the French kitchen — that is, 
in how many different ways you may dress veal, beef, 
mutton, pork, game, poultry, fish, and eggs.” 

“ Fifty, I suppose,” returned Pierre, carelessly. 

“Three hundred and sixty-five!” cried Champig- 
non, in a tone of triumph. 

“ And your cotelettes d la quadrille form the three 
hundred and sixty-sixth,” added Belle-Rose. 

The arrival of the gaoler to unlock the dungeon- 
door put an end to this colloquy, much to the regret 
of Champignon, who was about to commence a long 
harangue on the excellence of his new discovery, and 
the importance of it to the culinary world. Through 
the aid of some 'money which JBelle-Rose produced 
from the purse he had obtainrfat Versailles, a com- 
fortable breakfast was procured for the three prisoners 
by the avaricious gaoler, whose countenance wore a 
smile or a frown according to the means of those in 
his custody. De Rosann ate but little: Leblond’s 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


87 


timely assistance and mysterious aid had effected so 
deep an impression on his mind, and had awakened 
such a variety of conflicting ideas in his bosom, that 
resignation and patience had totally given way to wild 
and burning hope. This was not the case with Belle- 
Rose: much as he was rejoiced at the felicitous inter- 
ference of Leblond, and aware as he was of the im- 
portance of the service rendered . by him, without 
which no escape could ever have been rendered efiec- 
tual, — he still regarded all things with his usual im- 
perturbable coolness and serenity of disposition; while 
Champignon fell tooth and nail upon the provisions 
supplied by the gaoler, muttering between his teeth 
an almost inaudible regret that the fricandeau de veau 
had not been served up with oseille,"^ 

When this meal was concluded, the convicts were 
summoned, one and all, to the court-yard, where 
pump-water was at the disposal of those who were 
anxious to perform their ablutions ere their departure 
— an opportunity of cleanliness that none rejected.- 
Belle-Rose looked around to catch a glimpse of Au- 
guste Leblond, but he was not there; and Pierre dared 
not excite suspicion by inquiring of the gaoler if he 
had been liberated. 

The clanking chains were once more attached to 
the convicts as before ; and the squadron speedily 
resumed its march, under the escort of another de- 
tachment of Gendarmes. 


* Sorrel. 


88 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE ARRIVAL. 

It would be encroaching on the reader’s time and 
patience, minutely to detail every event that occurred 
during the march of the convicts. Suffice it to say, 
that Belle-Rose played his usual tricks in the various 
public houses at which they stopped ; that De Rosann 
kept up his spirits with sanguine hope ; and that 
Champignon vaunted his gastronomical acquirements 
whenever an opportunity presented itself. The other 
convicts amused themselves with licentious conversa- 
tion, and wiled away the tedious hours with ribald 
songs, or disgusting anecdotes of immorality and mis- 
deed ; and not unfrequently did they disguise their 
meaning in a certain slang, called argots which is a 
common language at the hagne, but is altogether un- 
intelligible to those who are not initiated in the mys- 
teries of that school. We wdll not, however, inflict 
. any of it upon the reader : on the contrary, we will 
pass over the remainder of the journey in silence, and 
resume our narrative at the moment when the massive 
gates of the prison at Brest closed upon the chain, 
^hlcli wao now arrived at the place of its destination. 

It must not be thought, however, that the galleys 
of France resemble the hulks at Portsmouth or Ply- 
mouth : years have passed away since the convicts 
dwelt in ships at Toulon, Brest, and Rochefort ; and 
spacious prisons, built near the harbours, have become 
the receptacles of those who still bear the name of 
galley-slaves. In courts of justice the words galeres 
and galeriens are now used but seldom ; they are al- 
most obsolete in the mouths of Ptocutbuts dc Roij 
and travaux forces and formats have replaced them! 

The town clock had struck five in the afternoon of 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


89 


the 5th of May, when the chain entered the bagne 
of Brest ; and a strict personal examination instantly 
commenced. One by one the convicts were submit- 
ted to the scrutiny of an old man in a little office or 
cabinet. There they were stripped to the skin, and 
not a crevice of their garments escaped the most mi- 
nute investigation. When this ceremony was accom- 
plished, they were conducted to the baths, and thence 
each to a cachot for the night ; and on the following 
morning they were supplied with new suits of clothes, 
their own being taken away to give place to garments 
made of cloth of two different colours. 

Belle-Rose entered the cabinet before De Rosann, 
and was instantly requested by the old man to divest 
himself of his apparel. 

“ Since you are determined to see me like Adam,” 
said the facetious Pierre, I must e’en obey : there 
is my jacket.” 

You have no files — no watch-springs — concealed 
herein ?” inquired the old man, while he plunged his 
hands into the pockets with a care that showed the 
little reliance he meant to place on the answer which 
the convict was certain to return to his question. 

No — but I have an important document in my 
possession, and I suppose the law does not authorize 
you to take it away from me.” 

Nous verrons,^’ returned the ojd man, fishing 
out the paper, and putting on his spectacles to ex- 
amine it. ’Tis a good and genuine passport, my 
lad,” he.added, casting a searching glance at Belle- 
Rose ; ‘‘ marked with the regular stamp — duly sign- 
ed — and endorsed. And the personal description too,” 
he continued leisurely, ‘‘what says that ? Age — figure 
— hair, dark — forehead, high — eyebrows, black — 
nose — mouth — chin — eh ! eh ! all right to a nicety : 
and the name, Henri Mercier, — my good fellow,” 
said the old man abruptly, “ how came you by this 
passport ?” 

“My days are devoted to the service of La France^ 
replied Belle-Rose boldly, but with a partial anxiety j, 
8 ^ 


90 


ALFRED DE ROSANW. 


for his future fate depended upon the veracity of Le- 
blond’s mysterious statements — and that veracity wa& 
now put to a certain proof. He felt like a man stand- 
ing on the verge of avast precipice, with an avalanche 
above his head, and a torrent beneath his feet — ex- 
pecting succour, and yet aware of the possibility, or 
even the probability of its failure. It was the most 
important moment of his life — and he knew it to be 
such. The old man hesitated — gazed at the passport, 
then at Belle-Rose, then at the passport again ; and, 
perhaps fearful that hazard alone might have dictated 
the convict’s reply — or perhaps to make doubly sure 
— he seemed to wait for him to say something more. 

Belle-Rose’s heart sank within him ; — he feared it 
was all over — that Leblond had deceived him — that 
his sanguine anticipations were vain. But he re- 
solved to be convinced at once ; and therefore, with- 
out mystery or disguise, fixing a penetrating glance 
upon the old man, and drawing himself up to his full 
height, to throw as much importance as possible into 
his attitude, he pronounced in a firm tone the words 

LA FRANCE.” 

I understand you — ’tis well,” muttered Plom- 
bier : ‘Uhe examination is finished. You will keep 
that document,” he added, returning the passport to 
the hand of Belle-Rose, ‘‘until an opportunity shall 
render it useful to you.” 

“ And when may that be ?” inquired Belle-Rose, 
delighted at the turn which the mysterious affair had 
taken. 

“ As speedily as possible. You may rely upon my 
aid.” 

“ You are yourself, then, enlisted in the service ?” 

“ In what service ?” inquired Plombier, feigning 
astonishment. 

“ in some service, evidently,” returned Belle-Rose. 

“ My friend,” said the old man, in a firm but kind 
tone, “ do not seek to penetrate mysteries as yet un- 
veiled but to few. It is true I am in a certain ser- 
vice— and you must embrace the same ; but perhaps 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


9t 


you may never know by whom, nor for what, you 
will have been employed. The mighty source of a 
thousand intrigues, in comparison with which the 
circumstances of your adventure are nothing,’’ con- 
tinued Plom'bier solemnly, “remains concealed from 
our eyes ; and God only knows for what purposes^ 
we are reserved. One thing is, however, certain, 
that those who are faithful and diligent in an unknown 
cause, are well remunerated ; and promises alone are 
not all the bait that is held out. Be secret, therefore, 
and wary ; a single word to your comrades — and you 
never quit these walls alive. I tremble, and am as- 
tonished at the same time, when I reflect on the vast- 
ness of that invisible power, which can watch over 
and control you, me, and thousands of others, and 
which yet appears to be an airy nothing, although 
vested with so terrible a reality of might and capa- 
city.” 

“May I not inquire — ” 

“ Nay — no more,” interrupted Plombier, gently : 
I am nearly as ignorant as yourself ; ’tis an extensive 
free-masonry, which time will probably develop. — 
Adieu — and when you meet me in the bagne, 
whither my duties often lead me, take no notice of 
me.” 

Belle-Rose would have questioned the old man 
farther ; but that venerable personage took him by the 
shoulders and gently pushed him put of the cabinet, 
whither De Rosann was almost immediately summon- 
ed to undergo the usual investigation. We need 
scarcely detail what passed between him and Plorn- 
bier : suffice it to say, that Alfred presently issued 
from the office with a smile of satisfaction on his 
countenance, and a ray of hope illuminating his 
breast. 

Champignon was ushered into the little cabinet after 
De Rosann ; and finding himself confronted by an 
ill-looking old man, he began to tremble, fearful of 
being in the presence of the public executioner. 
His face became as pale as death, his legs tottered 


92 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


under him, and his teeth chattered as if he were en- 
veloped in ice. 

Plombier stared at this comical figure in astonish- 
ment, while Champignon fancied his last hour was 
come. 

“ Well, my fine fellow — why do you not undress 
yourself 

^‘Undress myself! Good ‘God — what have I 
done cried the wretched man, a cold sweat gather- 
ing on his forehead. 

“You know best, I suppose,’^ returned Plombier. 
“ One thing is very certain : that you were not sent 
hither on account of your innocence.” 

“ Alas ! alas ! Monsieur le Bourreau,^^^ cried 
Champignon, “ spare me — spare me — for the love of 
God, spare me !” 

“ Who the devil wants to touch you !” said the old 
man, quivering with indignation at having been taken 
for the public functionary of guillotine. “ Make 
haste*, and disencumber yourself of these clothes, that 
I may dispatch you as speedily as possible.” 

“ Dispatch me ! — and so soon, too !” murmured 
Champignon, in a piteous tone of voice ; “you could 
not kill the best cook in France before he has said his 
prayers ! Oh, no! — Pm sure you could not : there- 
fore, mercy !— mercy !” 

“I kill you, idiot!” thundered Plombier, stamping 
his foot upon the fligor with rage : “ what put such a 
ridiculous idea into your ass’s head, I wonder ? Get 
up, and let me examine your clothes, you unsaintly 
coward — you worthless thief !” 

“ Oh ! oh !” whispered the gastronomer, “ then 
you are not going to kill me ?” 

“No ! idle fool. Undress yourself, or I will call 
the Gendarmes to tear your garments shred by shred 
from your vile body.” 

“ Spit me before the fire — grill me an a gridiron — 
truss me like a capon— but spare my life, at least 


Bourreau^ executioner. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


93 


till I have made known to the world my cotelettes h 
la quadrille 

Sacre mille ionnerres roared the irritated old 
man : the villain wishes me to dance a quadrille at 
my time of life ; but, by the eternal God ! I will 
make him caper to a pretty tune, if he do not instantly 
submit his unholy carcase to the investigation!’’ 

I am at your mercy,” said Champignon, resign- 
edly. Speak — what would you have me do ?” 

“ Fake oflf your clothes as quickly as possible.” 

The gastronomer obeyed with a piteous face, and 
Plombier soon terminated hisscrutiny; he accordingly 
motioned Champignon to resume his apparel ; but the 
sign was misunderstood and the ex-restaurateur of 
the Cadran Rouge, bewildered and confused, and 
almost unconscious of what he was doing, opened the 
door of the cabinet, and appeared amongst the Gen- 
darmes, and the rest of the convicts who waited to 
pass their examination, in his shirt. The step was 
rather higher than he fancied it to be ; and in des- 
cending it too hastily, his foot slipped, and down he 
fell. An immense dog, that hitherto lay reposing in 
his kennel at the farther end of the yard, was aroused 
and alarmed at the sudden apparition of a being in so 
unseemly a guise ; and rushing from his den, he 
flew upon the unfortunate gastronomer’s back in the 
twinkling of an eye ; but before he could do any es^ 
sential mischief, a Gendarme promptly interfered, 
and succeeded in withdrawing the animal, while the 
discomfited Champignon arose amidst shouts of 
laughter, declaring “ it was the first time in his life 
he had ever been taken for a cotelette en papillote.^^ 
On the following morning the prison garb was dis- 
tributed to each of the convicts who had entered the 
flay before ; and their names were worked in full 
length upon their caps, with a supernumerary dis- 
tinction emphatically expressed by the letters G A L.* 
Thus the ceremony of examination by the old man 


Galerien^ galley-slave. 


94 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


OQ the arrival of the chain was not useless, as it might 
have at first appeared to the reader, whose wonder 
was very naturally excited at the apparent folly of 
causing so much trouble, instead of dealing out a 
change of habiliments at once; whereas the clothes 
were necessarily kept back for a night, in order to 
be distinguished by the nomenclatures of those who 
were destined to wear them. Belle-Rose and De 
Rosann retained their passports untouched, as Plom- 
bier had assured them would be the case ; and their 
delight at this circumstance was only equalled by 
their curiosity to become acquainted with the nature, 
the source, and the extent of a power which displayed 
itself in so remarkable a manner, and^yet remained 
concealed from every eye. It was evident that the 
agents knew no more of the motives of their employ- 
ment, than the King’s messenger is aware of the 
contents of the dispatches which he bears from his 
sovereign’s court to a foreign monarch. " Those agents 
worked for a purpose into whose mysteries they 
could not penetrate ; they laboured to accomplish 
ends carefully concealed from their view. Thus was 
it impossible to betray the site of the mighty fountain 
whence issued a thousand streams ; thus were the 
invisible promoters of vast designs enabled to enlist 
the infamous as well as the virtuous in their service, 
and secure the eventual success of their enterprises by 
the cunning of those whose experience was not ob- 
tained in the paths of honour, but in the schools of 
vice. 

But if De Rosann were disgusted with the licentious 
and loose anecdotes of his companions on their march 
from Paris to Brest, how much more had he reason to 
shudder at the behaviour, the principles, and the lan- 
guage of those whom he found at the hagne. One 
related, with the utmost coolness a tale of horror and 
assassination, in which he himself had been engaged, 
and for which he was condemned ; another swore that 
the first use he should make of his freedom, would 
be to cut the throat of the person who delivered him 


ALFRED DE RDSANN. 


95 


into the hands of justice ; a third declared that, if he 
had murdered his own father, it was because he had no 
Inducement to be a dutiful son ; a fourth boasted of 
having robbed his unsuspicious master during a period 
of twelve years, which at last brought on the ruin of 
the respectable merchant whom he served, and to 
whom he was indebted for his bread; a fifth deplored 
his folly in not having blown out an aged grandfather’s 
brains, when he made the old man sign away his last 
farthing by placing a pistol to his ear, and terrifying 
him with the most dreadful menaces; and a sixth 
cursed the venerable priest who had interrupted him 
during a sacrilegious attempt to rob a village church. 

Such — for we dare quote no more — is a small sam- 
ple of the conversation, the ideas, and the thoughts of 
those wretches with whom De Rosann was forced to as- 
sociate. And, to add to his internal grief, he dared not 
manifest his disgust : he was obliged to conceal it all 
in his lacerated breast. He was compelled to join in the 
boisterous laugh — to listen to the ribald song — to ap- 
plaud the licentious joke — to smile at anecdotes of 
blood, of lust, of incest, and of terror — and to main- 
tain, as well as he was able, a joyous countenance 
amongst murderers and thieves. But all that he heard 
and saw, he witnessed with loathing, and regarded it as 
an example teaching him to retain the natural purity 
of his sentiments, and to avoid the slightest step that 
might lead to the abyss wherein the wretches around 
him had fallen. Had he been gradually drawn on 
from one degree of vice and dissipation to another, 
and initiated in the school of turpitude and debauch- 
ery step by step, the weakness of humanity might 
have been triumphed over, and his soul might have 
eventually succumbed to temptation. But he was pre- 
cipitated suddenly and headlong from a high estate to 
a predicament of horror; and the alarming contrast 
instantly made a deep impression upon his mind — an 
impression so indelibly stamped, that nothing less pow- 
erful than the waters of oblivion could have washed it 
away. 


96 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


Belle-Rose mingled fearlessly with the members of 
the hagne, and instantly became a gteat favourite, on 
account of his naturally lively disposition, his garru- 
lity, and the perpetual good humour which marked 
his countenance. He moreover recognised amongst 
the convicts several of his ancient associates, and soon 
made acquaintance with others ; for it is not in the 
criminal gaols that the ceremony of introduction, ob- 
served by the world without, is very prevalent. Still 
his soul was not so deeply tainted as that of many of 
his comrades : there was no species of swindling, chi- 
canery, nor dishonesty that Belle-Rose was not capa- 
ble of ; but he would have shrunk from spilling blood 
with the same horror as would a purely virtuous man. 
He affected no false sanctity; he merely said, in his 
own peculiar style of jocularity, “ That so long as 
there were widows to be duped, minors to be fleeced, 
and tradesmen to give credit, he did not see the use 
of cutting a man’s throat to procure a purse ; and that 
for his part he never had a very high opinion of the 
cunning of the individual, who preferred scouring the 
highways at night, to living on his wits within the 
walls of Paris.” 

Where all are bad, and where it is nevertheless ne- 
cessary to make choice of an associate, both for the 
purpose of concocting plans to further an escape, and 
to avoid an appearance of selfishness and constraint, 
we must choose the best. Therefore, even if circum- 
stances had not particularly linked the present interests 
of Belle-Rose and De Rosann together, it is more than 
probable that our hero would have selected Pierre as 
his intimate companion and chum. Neither Belle- 
Rose, De Rosann, nor Champignon, had been branded 
at Paris, as was customary with criminals found guilty 
of enormous crimes; and they were the only three, 
out of the fifty or sixty convicts that accompanied 
them from Bicetre, who had escaped this mark of eter- 
nal degradation. 

As for poor Champignon, he soon became the butt 
of his companions; but he bore all their jokes with 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


97 


the greatest good humour, never suspecting that he 
was singled out as the sole object of their practical jo- 
cularities. At night-time he amused himself with a 
thousand wild schemes, which he communicated to 
the others in the morning; and they with serious faces 
applauded his plans. Amongst these numerous de- 
vices was one for the formation of a joint-stock com- 
pany, or socUte en commandite, in order to make 
known to the world his cotelettes ti la quadrille, for 
which he intended to take out a patent, and to esta- 
blish a restaurant, where they could be served up in 
every principal town of France. The capital was fixed 
at six hundred thousand francs;* and the institution 
was to be called SocUU pour V exploitation des co- 
telettes h'la quadrille, sous la Raison Sociale de 
Champignon et Cie’’ The convicts declared this 
to be a most promising undertaking; and begged he 
would allow them to have the refusal of the first 
shares. The gastronomer thanked them with tears 
in his eyes, forgetting that scarcely one of his pro- 
mised supporters was blessed with a sou, and began 
racking his brains for suitable language in which “ to 
dress up ^ prospectus. 

Shortly after the arrival of the prisoners at the 
bagne, the Commissary or Governor definitively di- 
vided them into couples, and every couple was attached 
together by a long chain fastened to the ancle of each 
individual. Fortunately for the execution of their 
designs, and the fulfilment of the mystic promises of 
Leblond, De Rosann and Belle-Rose were again suf- 
fered to be chained together; and thus during their 
toils to which their condemnation compelled them to 
submit, were they enabled to discuss schemes and me- 
thods of escape. The result of these deliberations 
was, however,anticipated by an accident which seemed 
singularly well adapted to favour the wishes of the 
two convicts. The circumstances alluded to will be 
faithfully detailed in their places : at present we must 

* Twenty-four thousand pounds sterling. 

VOL. I. — 9 


98 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


for a moment stop the thread of our narrative to lay* 
before the reader an episode which, although it may 
at first appear entirely unconnected with the tale, is 
nevertheless too important to be omitted. 


CHAPTER IX. 

FRANgOIS. 

In one of the strong rooms of the prison at Brest, 
encumbered with massive chains, and awaiting the 
arrival of Gendarmes to lead him forth to the place of 
execution, lay an old man, who had numbered at least 
sixty summers, and who had languished at the galleys 
more than half that period. His hair was white as 
snow; but his fiery eye and keen glance had not suf- 
fered through the ravages of time. There was some- 
thing repulsive in his looks and in his manners — a 
ferocity, a coarseness that restrained the slightest ad- 
vance at familiarity. The story of his condemnation 
to the galleys, as he had often told it to his comrades, 
was as follows: — 

“ It was in the year V. of the Republic, on the 2d 
of Thermidor — I recollect it as if it were yesterday 
— a stranger entered my humble shop in the Rue 
Crenelle St. Honore, in Paris, and inquired if I had 
apartments to let. He had been attracted by the pla- 
card outside the door stating that a portion of my 
house was thus to be disposed of. I answered in the 
affirmative — he examined the two rooms that were 
free, and appeared satisfied with them. He inquired 
the amount of rent; I demanded a somewhat high 
price, expecting to be beaten down; but he acqui- 
esced in the almost exorbitant charge, and was speed- 
ily installed in his new lodgings. He did not stir 
out till late at night; and then he remained some time 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


99 


absent. At length he returned, accompanied by an 
individual bearing a portmanteau of an uncommon 
weight, if I might judge by the way he staggered 
under the heavy load. This was my lodger’s ser- 
vant; and from that moment he took up his quarters 
with his master; there being a bed in each room. 
The Marquis de Denneville — for such was his rank 
and name — made a confidant of me, and threw him- 
self entirely on my mercy. It appeared that a price 
was set upon his head — that since the overthrow of 
the Bourbon dynasty he had hitherto remained con- 
cealed in England — and that he had at length return- 
ed to his ‘unfortunate country,’ as he called it, to 
endeavour to influence a powerful relative in his be- 
half. This last resource had failed — his relative had 
proved himself a faithless friend, — and temporary 
concealment for the Marquis de Denneville was neces- 
sary, until he could find an opportunity of reaching 
Calais and passing over to England. All he had suc- 
ceeded in doing was to realize a considerable portion 
of his former property, the whole of which had not 
been confiscated; and the proceeds, in gold and bank- 
notes, were in the portmanteau that Gustave, his faith- 
ful adherent, brought to the house. ‘ I have a child — 
an only child,’ said the Marquis; ‘and God knows 
what may become of me! Her mother is dead; and, 
although she be with kind friends, still must I look 
to her interests. This money will be useful to her 
in after-life — when I shall be no more!’ — and tears 
moistened the old nobleman’s cheek, as he uttered 
these words. — About a month passed away, and Gus- 
tave died of a sudden attack of apoplexy. The grief 
of the Marquis at this unfortunate event cannot be con- 
ceived; and his embarrassment was greater than his 
sorrow; for the faithful domestic had intended to un- 
dertake a journey to one of the western frontier 
towns, in order to secure a safe passage for his master 
across the channel. It was now that an infernal idea 
entered my head; the treasure of the Marquis haunt- 
ed me perpetually, beset me during the day, and fol- 

Ir 


100 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


lowed me in my dreams; my imagination was con- 
tinually forming brilliant plans for the future — 1 saw 
myself surrounded by domestics — I heard the noise 
of my carriage, as it rolled up to my door; in fine, I 
thought of nothing but that treasure, and the means 
of possessing it. 1 could not w’ork; my meals were 
nauseous to my taste; I looked with disgust on every 
thing save the fatal portmanteau; and at last, in a spe- 
cies of mental phrenzy, I resolved upon doing the 
accursed deed.^’ 

Here the old man invariably stopped for a moment, 
drew breath, wiped his eyes and his brow, and then 
proceeded with the tale of horror that had stamped 
untimely wrinkles on his forehead. 

“No sooner was my mind made up to perpetrate a 
terrible action, than I felt easier; and one fatal night 
— the rain beat in pitiless torrents against the win- 
dow — not a single star varied the gloom of the dark 
canopy above — the wind howled in the narrow street, 
in dismal chorus to the whisperings of my conscience 
— all nature seemed at war — I left my lonely couch, 
armed myself with a deadly weapon, and proceeded 
to the chamber of the Marquis. The venerable no- 
ble slept; there reposed one of France’s ancient peers 
— the aristocracy of the old regime — a pillar of the 
murdered Louis’s mighty throne! I paused to dwell 
a moment on his unruffled features — his mild coun- 
tenance; 4hen, banishing all commiseration from my 
ruthless soul, I stabbed him to the heart. He uttered 
not a groan — a slight convulsion passed through his 
frame — and in an instant he was no more!” 

It was the old man’s custom to pause again, when 
he arrived at this crisis; he then concluded in the fol- 
lowing terms: — 

“ But my villany was well rewarded. I opened 
the portmanteau, and sought in vain for the gold — it 
had disappeared. A bundle of papers alone met my 
eyes. Although I could not read — for my education 
had been more than neglected — I knew that they 
were neither bank-notes, nor bills of exchange to pro- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


101 


cure money upon: they were most probably family 
documents. My rage and horror, singularly blended 
together, knew no bounds; I had committed an enor- 
mous crime, and had reaped no benefit; my soul was 
stained with blood, and the bait that had allured me 
to so dreadful a deed, had eluded my grasp. In vain 
I searched the apartments — the murdered man’s per- 
son — the bed linen — all was to no purpose; the 
money was not there. What could he have done 
with it? I recollected that Gustave occasionally went 
out late at night; perhaps he had despatched the trea- 
sure to another land. Vain and useless conjectures! 
for there was one glaring, damning truth ever pre- 
sent to my faithful memory — a truth which no argu- 
ment could controvert — that I had deprived an ex- 
cellent and generous being of his life! I scarcely 
knew what I was doing, nor what was to be done. 
To remain there with the body was impossible; to 
dispose of it for any length of time was equally diffi- 
cult. In my desperation I resolved to fly from the 
hated spot. I accordingly rifled the pockets of the 
deceased, took what little money I myself possessed, 
and — God knows why — putting the Marquis’s papers 
in my pocket, perhaps with a distant hope that on ex- 
amination by a person who could read, and to whom 
I could entrust my secret, something might be de- 
veloped by them — I left Paris, and took the road to 
St. Malo, intending to embark for Guernsey, and 
thence seek the shores of England. I halted within 
a few miles of the town, and obtained a night’s lodg- 
ing in a farm-house situate at a little distance from the 
main road. Having carefully concealed the Marquis’s 
documents in an old cupboard that stood near the 
chimney of the room to which I was shown, I lay 
down to rest: but no sleep visited my eyes — horrible 
ideas oppressed me — and the ghost of the murdered 
man seemed to haunt my bed-side. In the morning 
I was arrested; the police had followed on my track 
but too well — and I was conveyed to a gaol. Despite 
of my unceasing declarations of innocence, I was 

9 ^ 


102 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


found guilty, and condemned to the galleys for life. 
As for the papers I left behind me at the farm-house, 

I never mentioned their existence to the Gendarmes, 
determined that, if those documents contain infor- 
mation which might lead to an important discovery, 
no one should enjoy the benefit of wealth that I had 
lost, through any disclosure from my lips. It is how- 
ever more than probable that the farmer found them, 
saw that they were useless, and destroyed them.^’ 

Such was the horrible tale which Frangois — for ♦ 
the old man was generally known by this name — had 
often told his companions; and so far as it could be 
ratified by the proceedings before the tribunal that 
condemned him, it was perfectly correct. With re- 
gard to the rest, no one could attest its veracity, nor 
prove its falsity. But let us hasten to inform our 
readers w'herefore Frangois is now in the strong- 
room of the prison, and why he is under sentence of 
death in a place at which he had been already doomed 
to pass the remainder of his miserable existence. 

About six months before the arrival of De Rosann, 
Belle-Rose, Champignon, and their comrades, a youth 
of fifteen was sent to the galleys for a period of five 
years. His character was the most depraved that 
can be conceived; he had participated in many daring 
robberies; and, after having been repeatedly pardoned 
and admonished by humane magistrates, he was at last 
found to be incorrigible, and the law was allowed to 
have its usual course. But the old Frangois took 
pity upon the tender years of Edouard— so the young 
prisoner was named — and behaved to him with even 
parental kindness. Occasionally the turnke)7s, in 
consideration of the length of time that Frangois had 
been at the hagne, slily ameliorated his usually coarse 
meal, and gave him fruits, cold meats, half a bottle of 
wine, or some little luxury of the kind. These addi- 
tions to the ordinary fare were always transferred to 
Edouard — and the old man experienced a secret 
pleasure in thus alleviating the miseries of a being 
that nevertheless was naught to him. If Edouard 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


103 


were ill during the night, Frangois invariably attended 
upon him, gave him water, arranged his straw pillow, 
and supported his aching head. And yet the youth 
was not grateful for his disinterested conduct; he 
was often rude and abrupt in his replies to the old 
man’s questions, and not unfrequently made him the 
butt of his low jests. Still Frangois loved the worth- 
less boy, and entertained a father’s affection for him. 
It was singular such tenderness in such a heart — in 
the heart of a murderer; but perhaps Frangois was 
rejoiced at knowing one individual in the world, 
whom he could single out and say, There is the 
only being on earth that I care for!” 

Months rolled away; and Edouard became daily 
more brutal and reserved towards his benefactor, as 
Frangois’ kindness to him increased. Oftdii did this 
ingratitude strike to the heart of the poor old man; 
and then he would say within himself, “All my 
sufferings in the world are a punishment for the crime 
I committed in my youth; if my soul become attached 
to a fellow-creature, the divine wrath uses that feeble- 
ness as a weapon against me.” 

One day Edouard had offended another convict, 
and he received a severe blow. Frangois reproached 
the man that had beaten the youth, with his cowardice 
in striking a person unable to defend himself, and 
whose strength had not 3^et become matured by 3’ears. 
A dispute ensued, and an inspector of the hagne — a 
man endowed with considerable authority — inter- 
fered. “ Edouard has well merited his punishment,” 
said he; “he is the most turbulent and troublesome 
convict in this department of the gaol; he receives all 
your kindness, Frangois, with the basest ingratitude, 
and he is perpetually creating some disturbance. 
The next time he misconducts himself, I shall trans- 
fer him to another quarter of the prison, where indul- 
gence is more circumscribed, and work more abun- 
dant.” With these words the inspector passed on — 
Edouard turned aside — and Frangois muttered audi- 


104 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


ble curses against the authority that had thus inter- 
fered in a private quarrel. 

That night, five minutes before the convicts were 
ordered to their quarters, and during the interval 
when their chains were taken off for the purpose of 
affording a brief relaxation, the inspector was found 
murdered in the yard! 

Suspicion fell upon Edouard and Frangois; they 
were instantly arrested and confined in separate dun- 
geons. The handle of a knife was discovered in 
Frangois’ pocket — the blade had broken against the 
ribs of the deceased. Our readers must be informed 
that the inmates of the hagne are not permitted to 
have knives; the query now arose, “Whence had 
Frangois procured the one in question?” A turnkey 
confessed he had lent it to him that very afternoon, 
since the dispute had taken place. Thus circumstan- 
tial evidence was strong against the unhappy old 
man. 

But the conduct of Edouard excited universal dis- 
gust, even in minds long inured to treachery and 
crime. He declared at his examination, that Frangois 
had imparted to him his intention of being revenged 
on the inspector, two hours before the murder was 
discov.ered, and had endeavoured to persuade him to 
assist in the nefarious design ; that he had positively 
refused; and that he was himself astonished at Frangois 
carrying his resentment to such a frightful pitch. 
Edouard moreover begged that particular attention 
might be paid to the evidence of the convict who had 
been the original cause of the dispute, and to that of 
a sentry present during the quarrel, by which testi- 
mony it was fully proven that Frangois had uttered 
many threats, and those without the slightest reserve, 
the moment the inspector was beyond ear-shot. The 
Commissary and other authorities, who presided at 
this examination, were considerably struck by the 
force of these arguments ; and Frangois was accord- 
ingly handed over to the jurisdiction of the criminal 
judge of the district, at whose hands he did not ex- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


105 


perience a long delay ere his doom was pronounced. 
And that doom was death ! It was moreover decreed 
that in order to present the other convicts with a 
striking exajDple, the execution should take place in 
the prison itself. 

It was about a fortnight after the entrance of De 
Rosann and his companions, that this sentence was 
.made known, with the additional certitude of its 
being put into force within four-and-twenty hours. 
Edouard was set at liberty; but not a soul spoke to 
him ; he was shunned by the most degraded as well 
as by the most scrupulous. Even in the eyes of 
murderers his conduct appeared monstrous ; when 
contemplated by polluted imaginations and blood- 
thirsty minds his behaviour had an aspect of some- 
thing inhuman. In what light, then, must it appear 
to the virtuous reader ? 

The news of Frangois’ condemnation to death, and 
the various collateral circumstances attending it, filled 
the whole of the bagne with sorrow, and diffused an 
unusual gloom around. Audible curses were muttered 
against Edouard — many gave him a blow as they 
passed — and at night he was under the necessity of 
feigning indisposition, as an excuse for sleeping at 
the hospital, apart from his usual companions, of 
whose taunts and reproaches he was dreadfully afraid. 

At length the fatal morning dawned ; and, when 
De Rosann arose, he saw the guillotine erected in 
the spacious court-yard below. With an involuntary 
shudder he pointed it out to Belle-Rose; the others 
soon gathered at the windows ; and all gazed in silence 
upon the accursed instrument. At that moment the 
first rays of the rising sun pierced through the dis- 
persing mists, and fell upon the glittering knife which 
was hung between the tall spars, at their -summits. 
Those spars were about one foot and three-quarters 
asunder ; between them was soon to pass a living 
being ; thence would be withdrawn a headless corpse! 
The beams of the orb of day appeared to play upon 
the destructive mechanism as if in mockery of the 


106 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


sorrows of him whose life was speedily to pass away 
beneath it. At first the sharp and heavy iron had 
hung aloft as an obscure and dark thing ; but when 
its terrors were revealed and rendered palpable by 
that abrupt emanation of light, an universal groan 
issued from the breasts of those who beheld it. De 
Rosann turned away from the barred window in un- 
utterable horror ; Belle-Rose muttered an anathema 
of some emphasis against the ungrateful Edouard ; 
and Champignon made so frightful a face, that, had 
any attention been paid to it, an observer would have 
fancied he was under the influence of a sudden 
strangulation. But luckily no one took notice of his 
contortions ; and he sate down to ponder for the first 
time in his life on something unconnected with 
cookery. 

Presently the roll of drums, and the march of 
soldiers, called De Rosann and his companions once 
more to the windows. A strong military force, with 
loaded muskets, and fixed bayonets, guarded every 
avenue of the extensive prison, and surrounded the 
square, in the midst of which the guillotine was 
erected. ^But it was easy to discern by their counte- 
nances, that there was not a warrior amongst the 
martial throng, whose heart was not softened at the 
melancholy tragedy about to be enacted. Heroes that 
have bled at Wagram, Austerlitz, Jena, and Arcole, 
and that have trampled upon conquered thousands 
beneath the banners of Napoleon, can still drop a 
tear at the sight of a fellow-creature’s suflferings ! 

No sooner had the soldiers taken up their station 
as described, than the convicts were chained in couples 
as a precautionary measure against the inclination to 
create a tumult, which invariably possesses a lawless 
multitude on such occasions, and were then conducted 
to the large square to be spectators of Frangois’ ex- 
ecution ; while Edouard, whose excuses could not 
totally overcome the sagacity of the prison-doctor, 
was himself doomed to witness a sight of which he 
was the cause. As he had just left the hospital he 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


107 


was not shackled ; and, as if his evil genius were 
determined to torment him, or rather to place tempta- 
tion to fresh crimes in his way, as will appear by the 
result, he found himself in the front rank nearest the 
guillotine. When he was perceived by his immediate 
neighbours, a repetition of the previous day’s re- 
proaches and gibes commenced ; but an order from 
one of the inspectors soon enforced a strict silence. 

All was now prepared ; the presence of the victim 
was alone required to complete the sad ceremony. 
At length he came, supported by two priests, and 
listening to their holy consolations with the utmost 
attention. His face was death-like pale — his limbs 
trembling — his glances bent downwards. The con- 
duct of Edouard had put the seal upon his former 
misery ; his heart was broken — his energies were 
gone — hope was blasted within him. His head was 
bare — it had not been necessary to cut the thin white 
locks that still hung down his neck ; for they were 
few, and could offer no impediment to the force of 
the deadly weapon soon to sever them. He looked 
not to the right, nor to the left — and all present guessed 
wherefore he chose to cast his eyes upon the ground. 
But Edouard stared at him with undisguised brutality, 
as he passed ; and the care-worn appearance of the 
old man failed to produce any effect upon the ruthless 
boy. 


108 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE MASSACRE. 

Arrived at the foot of the scaflfold, the cavalcade 
halted; and an inspector noticed that the executioner 
was not there. On inquiry it was discovered that the 
worthy functionary of the hagne, who was himself a 
convict, had purposely sprained his leg in so dreadful 
a manner, as to be totally unable to rise from his bed 
in the hospital, whither he had been conveyed. A 
low murmur of applause issued from the galley-slaves 
nearest the scaffold, at these jiews, which speedily 
flew from man to man. 

He will be saved!” said Belle-Rose in a whisper. 

“Thank God!” cried Be Rosann; “but where- 
fore?” 

“ There is no executioner,” was the reply. 

“ One will be found, I am afraid,” murmured 
Alfred. 

“0 no! — the executioner must be a convict; and 
all will refuse, as sure as you are a living man,” re- 
joined Belle-Rose. 

“You do not think that retributive justice will be 
thus cheated of its prey?” continued Be Rosann, as he 
breathed an inaudible prayer to the Almighty Judge 
of heaven and earth to^pare the gray hairs of that old 
man. 

“ I don’t know anything about those fine-turned 
sentences, my dear fellow,” said Belle-Rose, impa- 
tiently: “ but what I mean to insinuate is, that Fran- 
cois stands a devilish good chance of escaping.” 

“Would to heaven that he did!” whispered our 
hero, with the most unfeigned sincerity. 

“ Be heaven or hell the arbiter of his fate, com- 
rade,” added Belle-Rose, “ the thing will take pretty 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


109 


well the same turn. If no one will pull that little 
cord yonder, then Frangois’ head will not be severed 
from his shoulders: and although they may shackle, 
and bind, and enchain us, they cannot compel us to 
mount that scaffold and enact the part of common ex- 
ecutioners.” 

‘‘ True!” said De Rosann. ‘‘ But hither comes the 
Commissary: let us await the event with resignation 
and in silence!” 

The Governor stepped forward: he had a painful 
duty to perform; but he was obliged to acquit him- 
self of it. Nevertheless, his cheek was pale, and his 
voice was trembling; perhaps he also entertained the 
same hope that animated many others; for no one, 
however hard his heart — however strict his ideas of 
moral rectitude and justice might be, could mark that 
old man’s hoary locks, turn to the gloomy aspect of the 
guillotine^ and recollect at the same moment all the 
circumstances of the case, without experiencing a cer- 
tain mental attenuation, a kindly feeling, a sentiment 
of deep commiseration, in favour of him whose days, 
whose hours — whose very minutes were haply num- 
bered. The Commissary did betray this humane 
spirit, and vainly endeavoured to preserve an assumed 
coolness as he addressed the convicts in the following 
terms: — 

“ Prisoners, the absence of the individual, who 
should this day have completed the awful sentence 
which has been pronounced against the criminal 
doomed to expiate his dreadful action on that scaffold^ 
obliges me to have recourse to an extremity seldom 
practised within these walls. You are assembled to 
witness the execution of a malefactor, not that mere 
idle curiosity may be gratified, nor because it is 
deemed indispensable that his blood be poured out in 
the presence of a crowd: 0 no! you are called hither 
from a far different motive. It is that the example 
may be a salutary one; that the mournful ceremony 
may be a warning to you for the future, and an useful 
lesson against giving way to the intemperance of the 

VOL. 1. — 10 


no 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


passions. But it is not my object to descant on this? 
head*. One amongst you must supply the place of 
him who is wanting: the ends of justice cannot be de- 
feated by the petty evasions of a coward. Who, then, 
is hardy enough to volunteer? And as the office of 
executioner is rendered by man’s enormities a neces- 
sary one in the world, there has been a remuneration 
attached to it. In the present case, he that offers him- 
self, shall be exempt from all labour during the remain- 
der of his sojourn within these walls, shall dwell apart 
from the rest, and shall receive a certain sum for 
the performance of the functions of his office this 
day !” 

A cold sweat stood upon De Rosann’s brow at the 
termination of this speech, which, despite of the tre- 
mulous tone in which it was delivered, appeared cold- 
blooded and expressive of a horrible greediness for 
human gore. But its purport necessarily gave it this 
savage appearance; in reality it was as mild as the 
subject would allow. An awful silence succeeded its 
delivery: the Governor gazed upon the multitude be- 
fore him; and his heart entertained a hope that his 
words were futile. In that case Frangois would be 
remanded to his dungeon; a due report would be made 
to the proper quarters; and the royal mercy was cer- 
tain not to be demanded in vain. 

Scarcely a breath w’as drawm — the serried ranks of 
soldiers were as still as death — the convicts aw^aited 
the result in motionless anxiety; the sentries forbore 
to vary the silence with the noise of their paces to and 
fro on their respective posts — and the very breeze ap- 
peared to lull itself in unison with the rest. The 
priests muttered not a sound — the old man ventured 
to raise his head for an instant, and lift up his eyes to 
heaven to express his last hope. His lips moved — a 
minute had passed since the concluding syllables of 
the Governor’s address were uttered and were dissi- 
pated in the air. A minute, at such a time and on 
such an occasion, was an age: suspense makes years 
of moments, centuries of hours. But no reply sue- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


Ill 


ceeded to the appeal: the halt held out allured not 
even one of those degraded beings: the treachery of 
Judas was not to be there purchased with the thirty 
pieces of silver. Nearly another minute elapsed; a 
hum of satisfaction commenced throughout the ranks 
of convicts; the old man, whose supplication had ap.- 
pareiitly been listened to and granted at the throne of 
eternal grace, smiled faintly; the priests were about to 
begin a prayer of thanksgiving — the sentry had re- 
su^Tied his march — the Governor turned with tears of 
satisfaction in his eyes, to remand Frangois to his dun- 
geon — and Belle-Rose ventured a joke at the expense 
of Champignon, to demonstrate his joy — when a con- 
vict, who was not manacled, issued from the band, 
stepped quickly up to where the Commissary was 
standing, and cried in a firm tone of voice, “ I accept 
your proffer, and am ready to do my duty!” The 
Governor retrograded a few paces, as if confronted by 
a wild beast, or venomous thing, and stared in stupid 
astonishment, mingled with horror, upon the speaker. 
An universal groan burst from all those who recog- 
nised the volunteer — disgust, alarm, anger, were de- 
picted upon the countenances of the galley-slaves; for 
it was Edouard that now stood forward as the execu- 
tioner of his benefactor! 

“ The monster !” cried Belle-Rose : ^‘Frangois is 
lost !” 

The Governor hesitates,” said De Rosann; “there 
is yet hope.” 

“ A fellow like that would eat his own father,” in- 
terrupted Champignon, “ if he were only served up 
with 2. sauce piquant 

“ Alas! hope is vain,” remarked the experienced 
Belle-Rose: “the Governor as yet scarcely believes 
his own ears — his own eyes; but when his astonish- 
ment is past, he dares not ref^use to accept Edouard’s 
services: Frangois must die!” 

“And become meat for worms!” added Cham- 
pignon. 

“ See, see!” cried Belle-Rose, after a pause— the 


112 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


wretch advances towards the scaffold: in five minutes 
all will be over.” 

‘‘Silence!” exclaimed the Governor, who had re- 
covered his usual presence of mind, and had prepared 
to terminate the melancholy ceremony with as much 
despatch as possible. 

In a few moments Edouard was seen upon the plat- 
form of the guillotine^ awaiting the arrival of his 
victim. The countenance of the vile youth had not 
lost one atom of its usual colour; nor did his hands 
appear to tremble as he touched the strings that re- 
strained the fatal knife in its position between the 
summits of the two poles. Old Frangois was led up 
the steps — for he could not walk alone. He appeared 
already more dead than alive : this last blow had 
struck him dumb. He had endeavoured to support 
the knowledge of the damning fact of Edouard’s 
having sworn away his life; but now that the same 
individual was the one who had volunteered — freely 
volunteered to snap the last thread of a feeble exist- 
ence — an existence he himself had been the accursed 
means of abridging — the idea was too much for mor- 
tal man to sustain with reason. Once, and once only, 
did Frangois essay to speak, when upon the platform 
of the scaffold, but his tongue clave to the roof of his 
mouth, and refused utterance to a syllable. He suf- 
fered himself to be bound to the narrow plank: it was 
Edouard who adjusted the harsh cords with a blood- 
thirsty coolness and a skilful precision that would 
have astonished even the absent executioner. A 
breathless silence again pervaded all around — every 
eye was fixed upon the awful scene — every heart felt 
oppressed — every bosom throbbed — the priests whis- 
pered their last consolation in the ears of the depart- 
ing man — the plank was lowered — Edouard’s hand 
grasped the string — the knife fell with a whizzing 
sound — and the criminal’s head rolled into the basket 
prepared to receive it. 

The silence that had reigned immediately before 
the executioD, was not brol^en by a soul, till a few 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


113 


minutes after it. It resembled the stillness of the at- 
mosphere, which succeeds a loud burst of thunder, in 
the mirthful month of June. At length that dread 
tranquillity ceased; and hisses, and groans, and loud 
cries speedily formed a strong contrast. The convicts 
discoursed among themselves; in vain the authorities 
endeavoured to impose silence — the commands of the 
inspectors were totally disregarded. A terrible idea 
seemed to have taken possession of that party of galley- 
slaves that was nearest to the scaffold; and reproaches 
against Edouard, mingled with threats, issued from 
their ranks. The Governor called to order — the sol- 
diers rattled their arms — and the sentries cast vigi- 
lant looks around — but the spirit which now influenced 
the convicts was not easily repressed; and in a mo- 
ment the hitherto stifled shout of Vengeance! ven- 
geance on the murderer!’’ burst forth with appalling 
vehemence. It seemed as if a hundred thousand voices 
were concentrated together to chaunt forth the terri- 
ble chorus: the menaces, the supplications, the orders, 
and the entreaties of the Commissary, the inspector, 
and other authorities, were, in comparison with that 
dread sound, as the scream of an infant on the strand 
of the boisterous ocean. 

Amidst the continued din of a thousand cries was 
soon heard the rattling of chains, and the clanking of 
the fetters of which the convicts endeavoured to dis- 
encumber themselves: and then a simultaneous rush 
towards the scaffold but too distinctly proclaimed the 
intention of the infuriate mob. Edouard, who had 
hitherto remained upon the platform, now suspected 
that he was the cause of this disturbance — the object 
of that increasing ire; and, giving full vent to his 
terror in a loud scream, he hastily descended the steps, 
and sought protection by the side of the Governor. 
His disappearance from the scaffold of the guillotine 
was instantly noticed; and another cry of extermina- 
tion, which struck every ear, and which no one could 
mistake, issued from the enraged convicts, while the 
10 * 


1 14 ALFRED DII 

clanking of their chains still continued as a horrible 
chorus to the repeated shouts for blood. 

In five minutes the vindictive spirit, that had thus 
influenced the foremost rank of the shackled criminals, 
was disseminated throughout. the whole; and the cries 
and the shouts became every instant more appalling. 
De Rosann, irresolute how to act, was dragged on- 
wards with the rest: Belle-Rose whispered a word of 
hope in his ear — and'^they performed their utmost to 
add to the confusjon. 

The present position of all the various parties, pas- 
sive or active, may be rendered comprehensible in 
one moment, if it be not already understood. The 
reader must picture to himself an immense arena, 
bounded by high walls or buildings on all sides, and 
entirely encompassed within by a military force. In 
the centre stood the scaffold, on which the criminal 
had been executed. Around that scaffold, filling up 
the vacancy between it and the ranks of soldiers, were 
the disordered squadrons of convicts, mixed pell-mell 
together, all pushing towards one point, and moving 
on but slowly, because those nearest were afraid to 
show themselves too prominently in the mutiny, if it 
can be so called, and were urged forward by the more 
daring mob behind them. At a little distance from 
the scaffolding, a circle of spars and ropes had been 
constructed to repress the advance of the convicts; and 
within those limits stood the prison authorities. Half- 
a-dozen sentries were placed at certain distances out- 
side the feeble barrier, as an additional precaution 
against the rude pressure of a curious multitude. 

When the first rush was made towards the enclo- 
sure, these sentries assumed menacing attitudes, 
throwing their muskets in a horizontal position, and 
thus presenting their glittering bayonets to the bodies 
of the foremost of the mob. But the Governor per- 
ceived in a moment the simultaneousness 'of the move- 
ment on the part of the galley-slaves, and knew that 
those behind were even more guilty as agitators than 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


115 


those in front. The sentries, therefore, received or- 
ders to remain quiet for the present. 

But the dilemma in which the Governor was placed,, 
soon became more and more deplorable. It was in 
vain that he attempted to address the infuriated mul- 
titude — his voice was drowned amidst the cries of 
“ Vengeance V’ and shouts of “ Slaughter — the re- 
volt soon became general. To increase the disagree- 
ableness, if not danger, of his position, Edouard now 
implored protection on his knees before him, and only 
added to the irresolution of himself and the other au- 
thorities. They had not, however, many minutes to 
deliberate ; for the continued clanking of the chains, 
and occasional hurrahs, proved that some of the galley- 
slaves were endeavouring to divest themselves of those 
impediments. 

‘‘Fire! fire indiscriminately !” cried the Governor to 
the sentries ranged around the enclosure ; and in an 
instant the stunning report of half-a-dozen muskets^ 
proclaimed the commencement of the work of death. 

A pause in the shouts and the rush of the convicts 
ensued upon this explosion : but it was momentary; 
for the extreme measure adopted by the Governor 
only excited, instead of terrifying, the minds of those 
who had seen and done too much in their lives to be 
well acquainted with fear. The barriers were knocked 
down, the sentries driven back, the Governor and the 
inspectors were mingled with the crowd ; and as the 
destructive billows of a boisterous main carry all be- 
fore them, so did spars, platform, railing, and the 
other appendages of the guillotine, wave for a mo- 
ment, like the masts of a foundering vessel, above the 
heads of the disorderly multitude, and then suddenly 
disappear. The space, where the scaffold ere now 
stood, was soon covered over by the waves of that 
living ocean, which was poured out in such wild con- 
fusion all around ; and the hollow murmur of a thou- 
sand voices, succeeding to the harsh cries that had 
hitherto rent the air, sounded to the ear like the dis^ 
tant rush of a vast torrent. 


116 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


For some time Edouard clung with agonizing te- 
nacity to the arm of the Commissary; but the agita- 
tion of the crowd, the frequent shocks each individual 
experienced, and the force of those often-repeated 
concussions, occasioned by the oscillating movements 
of the entire mass which no one in particular seemed to 
direct, but of which every soul was an assistant spring 
to sustain an unwearied motion, soon separated the 
wretched young man from the side of his protector, 
and he shortly found himself in the midst of those 
convicts who had commenced the riot, and who were 
the most inveterately disposed against him. A yell 
of satisfaction, which one might fancy to resemble the 
deadly whoop of Indians dancing round the fire 
whereat their prisoners are cooking for the repast of 
those savage anthropophagi, 'arose amongst the convicts 
when Edouard was thus thrown into their power; and 
a dismal, loud, long shriek issued from the lips of the 
wretched being, who but too well divined the horri- 
ble fate that was in reserve for him. 

While the victim was thus secured to those who 
thirsted for his blood in the centre of the mutinous 
body, the convicts on the outside had to contend 
against the attacks of the soldiery. No muskets were 
discharged; but the bayonet was a powerful reasoner 
to compel the refractory to a surrender; and as the 
circumference of the crowd of insurgents gradually 
became lessened, order would have been soon re- 
established through the efforts of the military, unac- 
customed as those brave warriors were to a warfare 
where they were obliged to abstain from rigorous 
measures as much as possible, had not the terrible 
screams of Edouard for a moment suspended all opera- 
tions, and reduce both soldiers and galley-slaves to 
silence and transitory inactivity on the extremities of 
the mass of people thus condensed together, while a 
terrible massacre was being perpetrated in the middle, 
whither no bayonets had as yet forced an entrance. 
The infuriated convicts of the centre seized hold of 
Edouard, and tossed him from one to the other, like 
a frail vessel hurled from billow to billow at the mercy 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


117 


of the winds. They then formed a small opening 
amongst them, and placed him in the midst, to respond 
to their interrogatories. At first he answered not, 
being half dead with fear and the brhises he had re- 
ceived; but a violent blow from the rough hand of 
the spokesman speedily aroused him to a sense of his 
predicament, and drew prompt replies from his lips. 
It was as easy for him to refuse to obey, as for an in- 
fant to combat the will of a giant. 

You offspring of the devil,” began the spokesman, 
in the name of the rest, “ answer me truly: was Fran- 
cois guilty of the crime that sent him to the scaffold?” 

“ No — no — he was innocent!” screamed the youth, 
veiling his face with his hands, and sobbing bitterly. 

“ And who should have suffered in his place ?” 

“ I — myself — for I alone was culpable.” 

“You murdered the inspector, villain?” 

“ I did — I did : oh ! God, forgive me !” and Edou- 
ard’s agony was expressed in groans and sighs that 
would have excited the commiseration of any save his 
present auditors. 

“ And the broken knife ?” continued the interroga- 
tor sharply. 

“ It was borrowed for me, and I afterwards trans- 
ferred the handle to Frangois’ pocket.” 

“ As for the murder, 1 can understand that easily 
enough,” pursued the convict, who had taken upon 
himself the office of interlocutor, with a brutal affec- ' 
tation of jocularity ; “ but I scarcely comprehend how 
and wherefor you could become the executioner.” 

“ I was wearied and afraid of your reproaches,” 
replied Edouard in a faint voice, “for having given 
my testimony against one who was always kind to 
me: and the prospect of being exempt from labour, 
and of being apart from the other convicts, induced 
me to volunteer my services to the Governor.” 

“ Infamous wretch ! it would do me good to cut 
your hard heart out of your body,” thundered the 
convict, accompanying his detestable speech with a 
severe blow on the youth’s cheel^. 


118 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


That was the signal to his companions for a recom- 
mencement of their brutalities, and in a moment 
Edouard was again hurled from one to the other. It 
was then that his piercing screams thrilled so fright- 
fully in the ears of the soldiers, and echoed around 
the gloomy prison. His limbs were dislocated in the 
demoniac sport — his yells were disregarded — his 
eyes almost started from his head — his teeth were 
knocked out — his mouth was dripping with gore. A 
convict, perhaps from merciful motives of putting a 
speedy end to his miseries, or else with savage thirst 
for blood and cruelty, raised his chains, and struck 
the unfortunate boy a severe blow on the head. Then 
the screams suddenly ceased ; and a shapeless, filthy, 
disgusting mass of flesh, without the slightest sign of 
life, fell at the feet of De Rosann and Belle-Rose, 
who exchanged looks of unutterable horror. 

But before the sanguinary deed was accomplished, 
and while the screams of P’^.douard yet thrilled in every 
ear, the soldiers, awaking to energy from a pause 
which was only of sufficient duration to allow them 
to inquire and discover the cause of those heart-rend- 
ing yells, proceeded, by the command of their officers, 
to force a passage to the centre of the throng, with the 
intention of rescuing the victim from the clutches of 
his murderers. They, however, experienced a fierce 
and powerful opposition. Many of the convicts had 
disencumbered themselves of their iron fetters; and 
converted them into weapons of defence. The strife 
was therefore savage — much blood was shed — and 
the contention had assumed a most serious aspect, 
when the sad cause of it, deprived of life, was thrown 
at De Rosann’s feet. 

The combat still raged: the soldiers endeavoured 
to secure those convicts who had succeeded in extri- 
cating themselves from their manacles, and to compel 
the others to return to a state of tranquillity and order; 
while the galley-slaves fought to resist the military. 
Jn the midst of the confusion — when the turmoil was 
^t its greatest height — when cries and shouts made a 


Alfred be rosani^. 


119 


deafening din, and each individual was as regardless 
of the actions of his neighbour as self-interest and the 
idea of self-preservation could possibly make him — 
when the Governor vainly essayed once more an in- 
terposition of his authority — when an inspector, who 
cried out ‘‘Peace!’’ as loud as his voice could bawl, 
receiv^ed for all answer a knock on the mouth with a 
chain-^when the soldiers had left the walls, under 
which they were at first ranged, and had become min- 
gled promiscuously with the original promoters of 
the strife — and when, by a sudden movement, the 
whole belligerent mass verged towards the building 
in which the door that gave ingress and egress to the 
prison was situate;- — at that auspicious moment an old 
man made his way with difficulty through the crowd, 
and sought the place where De Rosann and Belle- 
Rose were together resisting the shocks and concus- 
sions of those who surrounded them. Plombier — for 
it was he — gave a single nod of recognition, and put 
a little key into the hands of each. Not a word pass- 
ed between them. De Rosann and Belle-Rose were 
well aware of the purpose for which those diminutive 
instruments were given, and speedily availed them- 
selves of so useful an agency to cast off the galling 
fetters that had hitherto restrained their limbs in igno- 
minious thrall. Plombier then made a sign for them 
to follow him, and again forced his way through the 
crowd. But instead of taking the direction of the 
principal gate, he pursued another, which obliged him, 
and those who were guided by his motions, to force 
their road among the densest part of the throng. At 
length fortune and hardy elbows favoured their 
schemes, and they stopped at the wall that bounded 
one side of the large square. Within a few yards was 
a small door, which Plombier opened; and another 
moment saw them all three in a second enclosure, 
away from the rude rhultitude, whose shouts still 
echoed up to heaven. 

“You have your passports about you?” said Plom- 
bier, stopping to recover breath, and speaking for the 


120 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


first time since his encounter with De Rosann and 
Belle-Rose. 

A reply in the affirmative satisfied the old man, 
who did not waste any time in idle discourse, but 
again walked quickly on, followed by the two con- 
victs. They crossed the second enclosure, and arrived 
at a small lodge, to which Plombier introduced his 
companions; and having supplied them each with a 
change of apparel, he bade them hasten to lay aside 
their prison garb. This was the work of a few mo- 
ments: Plombier then addressed them as follows: — 

‘‘ My dear friends, your deliverance is at hand; and 
I sincerely hope your escape will lead you to better 
fortunes. Your memories have doubtless treasured up 
all that Leblond told you in the gaol of Verneuil: the 
• time will perhaps soon arrive when your gratitude to 
the great author or authors of your present happy 
egress from these accursed walls will be put to the test. 
May you not be found wanting! I have now done 
my duty. Depart; and, when the moment shall be at 
hand, do you perform yours. Adieu!’’ 

With these words he opened a wicket that led into 
a ’’narrow street, and gently pushed De Rosann and 
Belle-Rose from the lodge. The former turned round 
to express his thanks; but the old man had retired — 
the wicket was closed — and Alfred was fain to follow 
his companion away from the gloomy walls. 

At a little distance, the challenge of a sentry struck 
a momentary terror to our hero’s heart: but the sol- 
dier entertained not the slightest suspicion of the real 
truth; he merely examined the passports, or rather 
cast a very cursory glance over them, and politely 
informed our hero and his comrade that they might 
pursue their way, a permission which they did not 
give him the trouble to repeat. 

“ Nothing could have happened more fortunately 
than the murder of the inspector, the condemnation 
of Fran9ois, and the ingratitude of Edouard,” re- 
marked Belle-Rose, as they, issued from the town- 
gates and breathed the fresh air of the country. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


121 


The calamities of one man,” said De Rosann 
somewhat mournfully, often conduce to another’s 
welfare; and the glories of the successful are usually 
erected on the ruins of many.” 

Poor Champignon !” exclaimed Belle-Rose, de- 
sirous of turning the conversation into a blither 
strain; “ I am almost sorry to be obliged to leave him 
behind us.” 

‘‘I saw him making most piteous faces, and heard 
him utter dreadful yells, during the commotion,” 
returned De Rosann; “and if the scenes he has this 
morning witnessed do not expel some valuable culi- 
nary ideas from his head, I know not what could.” 

“ Such an eventful day have I never passed,” said 
Belle-Rose, casting an anxious glance behind him; 
“and I assure you I have seen enough during my 
brief career: but the horrors attending the execution 
of that poor old man, who was sacrificed after all, will 
not be readily effaced from my memory.” 

“I hope most sincerely,” cried De Rosann, with a 
species of religious fervour to which he was not accus- 
tomed, “that the lesson may be an useful one both 
for you and me.” 

“As for lessons being useful, and examples good,” 
replied Belle-Rose coolly, “I can hear my grand- 
motherorthe parish parson talkaboutthat kind of thing 
any time in the course of the week; but that my 
memory will treasure up the events of this morning 
with the greatest tenacity, is quite certain: not to be 
of the most remote service to me in a moral point, 
my dear fellow, because my life will always con- 
tinue the same: the singularity and horror of the cir- 
cumstances alone render them worthy of recollection 
in my mind.” 

No sooner had Belle-Rose done speaking, than the 
roar of a cannon fell upon the ears of himself and De 
Rosann, and drove the colour from the cheek of the 
latter. In a moment the explosion was repeated, and 
then athird time. De Rosann turned round to ascertain 
whence the smoke issued: the misty volumes came 

VOL. I. 11 


122 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


from the walls of Brest, and rolled over the fertile 
plains which he and his companion were traversing. 

“The riot is at length concluded,’’ exclaimed 
Belle-Rose, “and our flight is discovered. But do 
not be alarmed, my dear fellow,” he added, noticing 
the extreme terror of De ^osann, who would rather 
have entered a lion’s den than have returned to the 
galleys: “when I escaped with Leblond — then called 
Ledoux — from Toulon, I was only at the gate of the 
town the instant the warning guns were fired; and 
we are already a good league from the glacis. Take 
courage — march boldly on — let us gain yonder wood, 
and I pledge my existence to our safety.” 

The cannon again fired three times as Belle-Rose 
uttered these words, and De Rosann required no other 
stimulus to urge him forward. He walked wfith a 
desperate courage, determined not to be overcome By 
fatigue, nor to give way to weariness; and his com- 
panion from time to time held out such hopes as rea- 
son declared to be feasible. Presently they entered 
the wood, and De Rosann gave vent to an exclama- 
tion of joy. Belle-Rose reiterated his assurance that 
they were now beyond the reach of danger, and might 
indulge in a quarter of an hour’s repose; for the rea- 
der must recollect all they have gone through since 
day-break. They seated themselves on a green bank, 
and were hazarding conjectures relative to the event 
of the riot in the prison, when, to their astonishment, 
the report of artillery fell upon their ears a third time. 
There was no mistaking that sonorous explosion — 
once — twice — thrice again. Belle-Rose started up, 
and .looked towards the town they had left far behind 
them. Thence came the smoke once more, borne 
upon the breeze that blew steadily from the ocean. 

“ This is a glorious day,” cried Belle-Rose; “ three 
convicts have escaped!’^ 

“ But who can be the third?” asked De Rosann. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


123 


CHAPTER XL 

THE PEASANTS. 

The rays of a scorching meridian sun now pene- 
trated through the dense covering of boughs and 
leaves beneath which De Rosann and Belle-Rose en- 
joyed a momentary repose. The ideas that occupied 
their minds may be readily imagined — joy for their 
lucky escape, and anxiety to preserve their liberty. 
That the Gendarmes would speedily be upon the alert 
was very certain; but the conviction that their cun- 
ning was not infallible, offered considerable consola- 
tion to our hero and his companion. Besides this, 
Belle-Rose was well versed in the geography of all 
that neighbourhood; he knew the devious cuts and 
turnings of the wood, where it was impossible for the 
mounted police to conduct their horses, and where it 
was not probable they would search on foot; he was 
acquainted with those cottages at which food might 
be sought for in safety, and even beds for the night, 
if necessary; and he could tell every point of the 
compass in the dark, and in the midst of that vast 
maze of thicket and of verdure. With such a guide 
De Rosann had little to fear; he was, moreover, well 
aware of the cool and deliberate courage of Belle- 
Rose; and he did not dread any treachery on the part 
of that individual, because they were embarked in the 
same enterprise, although ignorant of its nature and 
its object, and because Belle-Rose had nothing to gain 
in playing a traitor’s game. 

‘^Our quarter of an hour has elapsed, and a few ad- 
ditional minutes besides,” said Belle-Rose, suddenly 
rising from the greensward, and preparing to con- 
tinue his march: let us penetrate one league^ deeper 

* A French league consists of fourteen hundred and sixty- 
seven yards, or two miles and a half, English measure. 


124 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


into this wood, De Rosano, and we shall not only 
be secure against the visits of Gendarmes, but shall 
also find wherewith to satisfy the cravings of our ap- 
petites; for to tell you the truth, my morning’s repast 
has long since ceased to allay a certain hunger which 
takes us at all times.” 

For my part,” returned Alfred, leaping from the 
grass, “ 1 have before made you acquainted with the 
forlorn state of my pocket. Were we in some town 
of repute, I could readily draw a bill upon a friend in 
Paris, which would not be dishonoured.” 

‘‘Yes, my dear fellow,” said Belle-Rose, with his 
usual coolness; “but in the midst of this wood your 
credit is of as much utility to us as a bank-note would 
have been to Noah in his ark.” 

“ I merely ventured an observation,” cried De Ro- 
sann somewhat petulantly. 

“ And a deuced foolish one it was, too, so far as it 
regards the present moment,” remarked Belle-Rose. 

“ Sir — I do not understand — ” began De Rosann, 
offended at his companion’s levity. 

“ What! are we going to quarrel at an instant when 
you require my services to procure you a luncheon!” 
exclaimed Belle-Rose with the most ineffable good 
humour, while Alfred reddened at the idea of his 
ridiculous wrath. “Come, my good fellow; we will 
just place another league between us and the town, 
and then talk of eating, or fighting, or any other mat- 
ter you choose.” 

This little dispute, if it can be so called, made De 
Rosann feel that in the midst of danger and trouble 
Belle-Rose was superior to himself; that the adven- 
turer, with his good humour, his constitutional gaiety, 
and his undoubted courage, was better adapted to en- 
counter adversity, and to surmount the difficulties 
that presented themselves in his way, than the fine 
gentleman endowed wdth honourable feelings and 
sentiments of delicacy, jealous of his reputation, and 
prompt to resent a joke when too familiar; and he 
was obliged to confess in his own mind that the 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


125 


Grand Secret Source, whence emanated the means 
which procured his deliverance from the galleys, dis- 
played a striking proof of wisdom, in enlisting under 
its banners those individuals who had been tutored to 
perseverance and endurance by the caprices of a 
variety of fortunes. The contemptuous idea he had 
hitherto entertained of Belle-Rose, essentially dimin- 
ished as he made these reflections; and he fancied 
that, had his present companion possessed advantages 
and experienced the slightest encouragement in early 
life, he would most likely have been a valuable mem- 
ber of society, if not an ornament to the country. 
As it was, Pierre Belle-Rose must never hope to rise 
above the adventurer, aspire to no loftier name, nor 
seek another profession. His habits, his manners, 
and his capacities, were all wedded to, and connected 
with, mean things: an escape from the galleys was 
his mightiest performance; the unlawful conveyance 
of a couple of roast fowls from a stranger’s spit to his 
own pocket, was one of his finest feats, and the trick 
at which he would laugh the most. Thus, instead of 
displaying his talent for intrigue on the wide theatre 
of public and political life — instead of practising his 
abilities of chicanery and invention at the bar — in- 
stead of making for himself an untarnished reputation, 
we find him the sport of circumstances, the ‘‘tennis- 
ball of fortune,” a wanderer without a home! 

Had Belle-Rose guessed the train of Be Rosann’s 
thoughts, and the nature of his reflections, he would 
most likely have desired him to cease his moralizing. 
But as the principles of the human mind do not em- 
brace the capacity of divining the ruminations of 
another, he remained silent, and pursued , his way 
through the unbeaten part of the wood, followed by 
De Rosann, who stepped courageously forward in the 
track of his guide. In about half an hour a miserable 
hut, almost entirely concealed amongst bushes and 
brambles, caught the eyes of our hero. Thither 
Belle-Rose directed his march, with a smile of satis- 
faction on his countenance. 

11 * 


126 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


I told you we should not be long, and that I was 
certain of finding the way,^’ said he, as they stopped 
at the cottage door. But hark I there is a songster 
within.’’ 

De Rosann listened; and the following words, 
chaunted by a female voice far from disagreeable, met 
his ears: — 


“ Here’s the goblet, whence his lip 
Deigned my humble wine to sip, 

Forgotten never !” — 

“ Mother, you will keep it ever, 

Will keep it ever !”* 

’Tis the Souvenh's du Peuple^^ whispered Al- 
fred, as the last syllables of the above lines died away 
into silence: we shall have admirers of Napoleon 
in these humble walls.” 

‘‘ Let us eat first; and the sweet chorister shall 
make us melody afterwards,” returned Belle-Rose, as 
he knocked at the door. 

Entrez — entrez^^^ cried a harsh voice; and the 
invitation was immediately accepted. 

Our travellers found them.selves in a room of some 
dimensions, miserably furnished, and almost suffo- 
cated with smoke, which emanated from an immense 
hearth where a large cauldron of soup was simmering 
over a dull fire. In the chimney-corner sate an old 
woman of a forbidding aspect. Her bleared eyes 
emitted a scalding rheum; her nose was filled with 
snuff, and her breath smelt of tobacco and garlic. 
She was bent almost double with extreme age; and 
when she muttered a few words of welcome to our 
hero and Belle-Rose, they recognised the harsh voice 
which had bade them enter the cottage. At a little 
distance from this hag, whom we might liken to one 
of the witches in Macbeth, stood a girl of about four- 
teen years of age. She was tall and well-formed, 

* The entire song is published in Part V. of “ Pickwick 
Abroad.” 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


127 


although disguised in the rude garb of a peasant; and 
her features, if not beautiful, were pleasing to a de- 
gree. There was a species of melancholy depicted 
upon her soft countenance, which appeared somewhat 
at variance with the coarse and indelicate feelings of 
the vulgar class, whose passions verge into extremes, 
whose grief is expressed in dismal howlingvS, and 
whose mirth is proclaimed by boisterous shouts of 
laughter. One would scarcely expect to encounter a 
placid, resigned, and silent grief — a tranquil sorrow 
— in a person brought up amongst people whose 
habits border upon barbarism, whose minds are nar- 
row and superstitious, and whose very felicity is 
made known rather by grins than smiles. 

But an inward melancholy was betrayed by the 
blue eye and pensive brow of that cottage girl ; and 
De Rosann sighed involuntarily as he gazed upon her 
mild countenance. It was evidently her voice that 
he had heard singing the praises of Bonaparte; for 
she and the old woman alone occupied the cottage at 
the moment Belle-Rose and Alfred entered it. 

“Jeannette, give these strangers the two stools 
that stand in the corner near the bed, and place some- 
what to eat before them.” 

This command, which was uttered by the old wo- 
man in as kind a tone as her harsh voice could assume, 
was speedily obeyed; and dried fruits, milk, bread, 
cheese, and cold vegetables, were quickly spread upon 
the table. Neither Be Rosann nor Belle- Rose waited 
fora ceremonious invitation to partake of the edibles 
served up to them, but they commenced their attack 
with all the vigour that a good appetite usually pro- 
duces. Even the sour wine, to which Jeannette helped 
them, seemed a luxury at that moment. 

“Your dwelling is somewhat retired, my good 
woman,” said Belle-Rose to the old hag, as he pushed 
his plate away from ^inj, to indicate the conclusion 
of his meal. 

“Yes; but poverty has nothing to fear,” was the 
laconic reply. 


128 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


You and this pretty damsel live alone together?” 
observed Belle-Rose carelessly. 

“Ono! — her father, who is my son, resides with 
us. He labours in the fields to obtain the scanty 
means that support his daughter and his aged 
mother.” 

Ah ! he is a dutiful son, then,” continued Belle- 
Rose, affecting an interest in the domestic matters of 
the poor family — an interest which he did not feel. 
“And his wife?” added he coolly. 

“Alas! she is no more,” returned the old woman 
solemnly, while Jeannette wiped away the tears from 
her eyes, and stifled a convulsive sob. 

“ Behold the secret of that sensitive child’s me- 
lancholy,” said De Rosann within himself: “she 
has not yet forgotten the delights of maternal affec- 
tion.” 

Belle-Rose saw that he had touched upon a tender 
cord, and hastened to turn the conversation. 

“I am sure, my good woman,” said he, addressing 
the old crone in a complimentary style, “ I am sure 
I hardly know how to thank you sufficiently for the 
hospitable entertainment we have received : he as- 
sured, however, that neither I nor my companion will 
readily forget it.” 

“ I would that my poor cabin had better fare to 
offer you,” answered the grandmother, “but such as 
it is, you are most welcome.” 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Belle-Rose with his usual non- 
chalance^ “ we are old soldiers, and are accustomed to 
hardships of every kind.” 

“Soldiers! are you soldiers?” cried Jeannette, a 
transient delight beaming in her blue eyes ; then, 
fearful that her stidden vivacity might displease, she 
hung down her head and blushed deeply. 

“ Yes, my pretty child, we are soldiers,” returned 
Belle-Rose without the slightestembarrassment; “and 
have just returned from the wars.” 

“I thought France was at peace,” said the old 
woman. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


12 ^ 


“0 no!’’ answered Belle-Rose ; the Chinese have 
commenced hostilities against us, and the island of 
Madagascar has revolted.” 

“Then Algiers is in China, I suppose,” cried the 
grandmother, “ and it was the Chinese army which the 
great Marshal Bourmont defeated.” 

“ Precisely, my good woman. I and my com- 
panion were engaged in all the* campaigns, and have 
brought away ever-blooming laurels with us.” 

“ Ah ! I should like to seek those laurels,” said the 
old woman, while Be Rosann had the greatest diffi- 
culty to suppress a laugh. 

“ What kind of men are the Chinese?” inquired 
Jeannette. 

“Giants, my love — seven feet high — mounted 
upon crocodiles,and clothed in armour,” replied Belle- 
Rose. “ Their king, whose name is Chinchangen- 
topemandandarallah, is as tall as the church steeple of 
Brest, and as fierce as the lions in the Jardin des 
Plantes at Paris. He devours ten oxen at one meal, 
drinks up a river, and tramples upon his subjects as 
he walks abroad. Ah ! as for his ferocity, God knows 
some of our poor countrymen can answer for it !” 

“ Bah! and you have seen all that ?” exclaimed 
the old woman. 

“ Every atom of it — the king — the crocodiles — and 
the ten oxen,” returned Belle-Rose after a pause, 
during which he assured himself by a^ single glance 
that he was not regarded with looks of incredulity on 
the part of the grandmother and Jeannette. “ I once 
saw him take up a cow by the tail, just as you, my 
pretty maiden, would lift a pear by its stalk, and hurl 
the poor beast a thousand yards.” 

“ Of course it was killed ?” remarked the girl. 

“No such thing: the cows in that country wear 
steel jackets and wadded pelisses; and in this instance 
the happy animal escaped unhurt.” 

“Papa has not seen so many wonderful sights,” 
cried Jeannette, shaking her head to express the extent 
of her astonishment at thtse marvels. 


130 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


I dare swear he has not/^ carelessly remarked 
Belle-Rose. 

‘^Nor will he ever,’’ added De Rosann with a sig- 
nificant accent;, for he was afraid his companion 
would soon launch out into exaggerations even too 
ridiculous to be believed by the old woman, and her 
ignorant granddaughter. But at that moment the 
door opened, and a sturdy peasant entered the hut. 
He made a respectful bow in a military fashion to the 
two strangers, and, drawing forward another stool, 
seated himself at the table, on which Jeannette placed 
three soup-plates and as many wooden spoons. 

•'‘Will not those gentlemen condescend to partake 
of our soup ?” asked the labourer in good French, 
which contrasted strongly with the horrible patois 
spoken by his mother. 

Jeannette made a sign for her father to change 
the conversation ; but the hospitable peasant did not 
understand her meaning, and persisted in his inquiry 
wherefore De Rosann and Belle-Rose disdained the 
soup ?” 

“ People who have seen kings never eat soiipe 
maigre, papa,” exclaimed Jeannette, unable to keep 
silent any longer on that interesting head. 

The girl is mad !” cried Claude, for such was 
the peasant’s name : have not I often seen our gal- 
lant Emperor ? and do I refuse good potage on 
account of that ? No, no! such pride is too ridicu- 
lous !” 

“Napoleon was not so tall as you,” returned 
Jeannette ; “ but these gentlemen have seen the King 
of China — the celebrated Caccancarancary, or some 
such name — who is as high as the tower at Brest — who 
eats ten oxen at one meal — who sits upon a crocodile 
— who takes up a cow by the tail — and who clothes 
his cattle in steel jackets and w’added pelisses.” 

The astonishment of the worthy peasant at this 
tirade can be better conceived than described : the 
extraordinary contortion that his countenance assumed 
— the roHing of his eyes— «nd the manner in which 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


131 


he held his breath so as not to lose a syllable, made 
such an impression upon Belle-Rose and De Rosann, 
that they burst forth into a convulsive fit of laughter, 
thus adding to the poor man’s confusion. 

“ ’Twas a fairy tale — do you see? — a romance 
that I told your daughter, ere now,” cried Belle- 
Rose, with tears still in his eyes — the effect of the 
violent excitement his risible muscles had undergone. 

Ah ! I comprehend,” returned Claude ; and he 
good-humouredly joined in the mirth as heartily as 
his two guests. 

‘‘Then ’tis all false!” cried Jeannette pettishly. 

“Nay, my child — it was done to amuse you,” said 
her father, who had remarked the frown upon her 
countenance. 

“ In that case I will forgive you,” exclaimed she, 
casting a kind glance at Belle-Rose. 

“ I am an old soldier myself,” said the peasant, 
after a long pause, during which two more plates 
were laid on the table, and the soup was poured out 
into each ; “ and I confess that the history of the 
Chinese monarch somewhat startled me ; for I have 
served under Napoleon — had the supreme honour of 
fighting beneath the banners of the greatest warrior 
that ever the world produced — and never do I seek 
my humble couch without offering up a prayer, im- 
ploring the Divine Majesty to suffer the ashes of the 
departed hero to be one day cradled in that soil for the 
glories of whose people he fought and conquered. 

“ And I sincerely hope that your prayer may be 
'eventually granted, my brave fellow,” cried De 
Rosann, partaking of the other’s enthusiasm: “but 
alas ! I am afraid many years will yet pass away ere 
that last act of justice be done to Napoleon and to 
France 1” 

This was a favourite topic ; and the conversation 
soon became general. The old woman mingled in 
it with warmth and ardour; she related many anecdotes 
of Bonaparte, and displayed an extraordinary tenacity 
of memory, while Jeannette listened in reverential 


132 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


silence to the various eulogiums that were uttered in 
praise of the mighty warrior. Thus is it still to-day 
— and thus will it be for centuries to come — that the 
superstitious and unlearned peasant, whose opaque 
mind will receive an improbable tale as an infallible 
truth, and whose ignorance relative to the history of 
his country is more deplorable and profound than 
imagination can possibly fancy it, will cherish the 
name of Napoleon as he would the memory of his 
own child ; will describe his battles — enumerate his 
victories — detail his campaigns ; and will conclude 
the glowing picture with a variety of anecdotes, all 
bearing reference to the one grand topic, and all to 
be found in the biographies, which have been from 
time to time publish, of the illustrious commander. 

The father of Jeannette was enthusiastic in favour of 
Napoleon ; and as he spoke, his blood appeared to boil 
with a fanatic frenzy, his eye flashed fire, his nostril 
dilated. De Rosann and Belle-Rose listened even to 
that peasant with respect ; for the subject of his^ dis- 
course commanded veneration and inspired awe : and 
they were not annoyed when he called upon his 
daughter to sing them a song in praise of the land 
which had given birth to the mighty hero. Jeannette 
had no false pride, no coquetry : she did not wait to 
be solicited several times ; but, in obedience to the 
wishes of her sire, she sang, in rather a melodious 
voice, the following air : 


FRANCE. 


Know ye the land where the warriors of story 

Were the pride of the nation, and boast of their king? 
Where the fame of Rolando, and Oliver’s glory, 

Were a theme well adapted for minstrels to sing? 
Know ye the land of the great and the brave, 

Whose heroes are mighty to conquer and save; 

Where dwell the undaunted, the bold, and the free ? 

O this is the nation for love and for me ! 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


- 133 


Know ye the land of the bard and the lover — 

The clime of the bright, and the courteous, and gay 1 — 

Go — search through the East, and the universe over — 

Go, Frenchman, and languish in lands far away ; 

In France still your heart is, and e’er will remain ; — 

For a fairer than France may you search, but in rain : » 

’Tis the land of the great, and the dauntless, and free- 
The nation of love and of pleasure for me ! 

If you seek for a maiden with loveliness beaming, 

Our Gallia has beauties the fairest that be ; 

The moon in yon sky so tranquilly gleaming, 

Appears not more chaste than our virgins to me. 

Their bosoms are warm, but as fair as the snow — 

They’ve a smile for your bliss, and a tear for your wo : — 

And this is the land of the courteous and free, 

The nation of beauty and pleasure to me ! 

They love not their g'allants to languish all idly 
In their gilded saloons, from the battle afar ; 

But they send forth their warriors to spread their fame widely. 

And seek for renown in the mazes of war. 

O this is the land of the bravest of old ! 

Where maids are most lovely, and warriors most bold. 

Where chiefs are undaunted, and fearless, and free — 

’Tis the land of all bliss and all pleasure to me ! 

’Tis sweet to recline on the breast softly heaving, 

And beating with transports, of her you adore; 

’Tis hard to depart when you know you are leaving 
A being you haply may never see more ! 

But warriors must wander to aid the opprest, 

Must leave for a time the pleasures of rest. 

And fight for the land of the courteous and free — 

The land that is dearest to Fame and to me ! 

The chiefs of the South, in idlesse reclining. 

Make Italy echo with pleasure and mirth ; — 

While the eyes of their maidens in raptures are shining, 

They dream not of spreading their fame o’er the earth ! 

But never may Frenchman an infidel prove 
To the land of his birth, or the maid of his love : — 

He may revel in pleasure, and still can be free 
To fight for the clime which is dearest to me 1 


It requires but one word in praise of France and 
the achievements of her thousand heroes — and only 
VOL. I. — 12 


134 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


a syllable which at all alludes to the name of Napoleon 
and the reminiscences of his extraordinary deeds, to 
set a Frenchman’s soul on fire. De Rosann was in 
raptures : he forgot the dangers from which he had 
ere now escaped — the massacre of Edouard, the ex- 
ecution of Francois, and the difficulties attending his 
present predicament — a long journey before him, and 
Gendarmes behind — he recollected not his absent but 
affectionate Eloise — he cared not for the world with- 
out — all, all were as indifferent to him at the present 
moment as the richesof the earth to the cynic Diogenes. 
His soul was wrapt in a joyous ecstasy — his imagina- 
tion pictured glorious visions, in which the apotheosis 
of the departed heroes of his country was predominant 
— and the magig influence of the song chased away 
from his memory the certainties of the present mo- 
ment, to make way for the speculations of the past 
and the idealities of the future. It was not the sweet 
voice of the cottage girl that had worked this en- 
chantment ; but it was the extraordinary degree of 
excitement which the name, song, and previous con- 
versation, thathad turned upon the praisesof Napoleon, 
produced in a mind, which had been taught from in- 
fancy to regard the Emperor as something more than 
man— and almost to reverence him as a god. 

And when we reflect on the vast and varied ac- 
complishments of the deceased hero — when our eyes 
scan the long catalogue of glorious victories which 
have made for him a reputation “ more durable than 
brass” — when we think of the loftiness of soul that 
embraced the most wonderful designs, that defied as 
light obstacles those mundane difficulties which other 
men consider insurmountable '4)arriers to the attain- 
ment of their wishes — whether we regard him as a 
statesman, or as a warrior, our admiration must be the 
same — and while we condemn him as a tyrant, we 
may well excuse those sentiments of pride with which 
the Frenchman boasts of him as a commander and as 
a politician. All have their faults — and he had many; 
but in perusing the history of his chequered existence, 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


135 


it must be remembered that the smallest delinquencies 
of an exalted character are invariably registered with 
his virtues; and that the higher the rank of the indi- 
vidual, the more eager is mankind to detect his pecca- 
dilloes and expose his inadvertencies. 


CHAPTER XII. 

ADVENTURES. 

So entirely had Jeannette’s song engrossed the at- 
tention of the inmates of the cottage, that the soup re- 
mained hitherto untouched, and an hour slipped away 
without being perceived. But the fresh air of the 
fields, which had sharpened the appetite of the peasant, 
was not to be encountered by an empty stomach: and 
the potage soon began to disappear from his plate. 
Jeannette, Belle-Rose, and the grandmother, followed 
Claude’s example; and Be Rosann, aroused from his 
heroic delirium by an unceremonious shake from his 
companions, was fain to imitate the rest. Scarcely, 
however, was the frugal meal concluded, when a loud 
knock at the door startled our hero and Belle-Rose: 
but their alarms were speedily dissipated; for instead 
of a tall police officer, with clanking weapons, a lad 
of about fifteen entered the cottage. 

Well! what possesses the boy,” cried the old wo- 
man in a cross tone, ‘‘ to knock at the wicket, as if 
he were a fine gentleman who must be invited to en- 
ter with all due ceremony: and how is it that you are 
so late? But sit down, Jacques,” continued the hag, 
suffering her voice to relax into a less severe tone than 
she had at first assumed, ‘^and eat your dinner. Jean- 
nette, give your brother a plate, my girl — and let him 
tell us all the news afterwards.” 

News, indeed!” exclaimed the boy, seating him- 


136 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


self near the table, at a respectful distance from his 
father’s guests, whom he eyed from time to time with 
embarrassment, not knowing whether he might con- 
verse freely, or not, in their presence. 

“ Speak out like a man,” cried Claude, who re- 
marked his son’s timidity: these gentlemen are tra- 
vellers — ” 

“From China, too,” interrupted Jeannette, with a 
good-humoured smile upon her countenance. 

“And they have condescended to accept our poor 
hospitality,” continued Claude, not heeding the girl’s 
jocularity: “so speak boldly, and tell us all you have 
seen or heard.” 

There have been dreadful riots in the prisons of 
the galley-slaves,” began Jacques, who was just re- 
turned from Brest, whither his grandmother had sent 
him on some errand: “and three convicts have es- 
caped !” 

“ Three convicts!” exclaimed Belle-Rose coolly, 
while De Rosann p,layed with his spoon, and held 
down his head, for he felt the colour mounting to his 
cheeks. 

“ Yes— three convicts have escaped,” resumed 
the bo}^: “another has been executed, and a fifth mur- 
dered.” 

An exclamation of mingled horror and curiosity on 
the part of Jeannette, Claude, and the old woman, in- 
terrupted this recital; but Belle-Rose, pretending to 
feel a considerable degree of interest in the tale', 
begged the boy to proceed. Jacques accordingly re- 
lated, with a thousand exaggerations, those particulars, 
relative to the decapitation of Francois, the massacre 
of Edouard, and the commotion amongst the forpafs, 
of which the reader is already aware; adding,^ that 
during the riot, three conyicts had succeeded in break- 
ing off their chains, and in effecting their escape, but 
that the Gendarmes were on the alert, and that the re- 
capture of the deserters was hourly expected. 

“And how did the revolt terminate?” inquired 
Claude. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


137 


‘‘ Oh! the soldiers were obliged to use their bayo- 
nets/^ answered the boy; ‘^and then the affair was 
soon finished. Several of the convicts broke their 
fetters in the skirmish, to use as weapons of defence; 
but only three escaped.” 

‘‘What are their names?” asked Jeannette. 

“ Just as if I troubled my head about a parcel of 
names!” cried the boy, thrusting large spoonfuls of 
soup into his mouth with a peculiar relish. 

“No — that’s true,” remarked Belle-Rose: “never 
bother yourself with idle appellations.” 

“ It is extraordinary,” said Claude, after a pause, 
“how well those fellows manage to escape: for my 
part, I cannot fancy in what manner they do it.” 

“ Nor I,” added Belle-Rose, with the most ineffable 
coolness, as he kicked De Rosann’s foot beneath the 
table: then turning to Claude, he said, “ But I w^onder 
the fugitives never seek a momentary refuge in this 
cottage, at least till the fervour of the first search be 
past: methinks your hut is admirably contrived for 
such a shelter.” 

“0 no! the Gendarmes know it well,” cried Jean- 
nette. 

“Yes — and for that very reason they never visit 
it,” added Claude, in a tone of voice intended to re- 
buke the hasty remark which his. daughter had made: 
“ they are aware that although we be poor, we are ho- 
nest, and would not for the world harbour a man 
whose crimes had rendered him deserving of punish- 
ment; for, according to my ideas,” continued the pea- 
sant, “ it is not a duty imposed by humanity, nor the 
rights of hospitality, to protect offenders against the 
laws of our country.” 

“ I perfectly agree with you, my honest friend,” 
exclaimed Belle-Rose ; “and advise you always to 
practice those principles which sound so well in 
theory.” 

“ Every honest man must be of the same opinion,” 
said the unlearned but upright labourer, who did not 
perceive that Belle-Rose was ridiculing the severity 


138 


ALFRED BE ROSANjr. 


of the ideas of justice entartained by this modern 
Draco. 

S'ummum jus, summa injuria,” thought De 
Rosann, anxious that this conversation should ter- 
minate, for the topic was anything but agreeable to 
him : and at this moment he again envied the wonder- 
ful coolness and sang-froid of Belle-Rose, whose 
countenance did not vary a shade, nor his features a 
muscle, as he had discoursed on matters so intimately 
connected with his own private circumstances, and 
those of his companion. 

To the great delight of our hero, Claude soon rose 
from the table,, wished his guests a respectful Good 
morning,” and issued forth to resume his toils. In a 
quarter of an hour, when Belle-Rose thought the pea- 
sant was at a sufficient distance, he made a sign to De 
Rosann, who gave a nod to signify acquiescence, and 
they once more set out on their journey, having re- 
turned a thousand thanks for the hospitality they had 
experienced. It was now nearly three o’clock ; the 
oblique rays of the sun with difficulty penetrated 
through the thick wood, which became more dense 
and entangled the farther our travellers advanced into 
if; and a refreshing breeze, blowing directly from the 
westward, diminished still further the influence of the 
heat. 

^‘Let us proceed gently,” said Belle-Rose; ‘^for it 
is useless — nay even dangerous, to quit the mazes of 
the wood ere night-fall. We are as secure in these 
labyrinths as in the midst of the deserts of Saara ; but 
were we to emerge into the open fields, we should 
run the risk of a disagreeable encounter.” 

“ It is extraordinary,” remarked Alfred, “that the 
Gendarmes do not search this wood throughout in the 
first instance. They cannot expect to find fugitive con- 
victs walking quietly along the main-roads, to be picked 
up at pleasure, and be reconducted to their gaols.” 

“ ‘ Live and learn,’ quoth the proverb, my dear fel- 
low,” cried Belle-Rose : “your astonishment is very 
natural; but two words from the lips of experience 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


139 


will explain the mystery. The Gendarmes say to 
themselves, ^ Where shall we look for this convict 
who has escaped, and who will make use of all his 
cunning to avoid encountering us ?’ ‘ Not in a wood, 
the entrance of which is nearly on the very slope of 
the glacis,’ replies Common Sense: Hhe convict 
suspects that you would scarcely omit searching it 
throughout, and therefore conceals himself any where 
but there.’ Upon this the Gendarmes commence 
scouring the country, and never dream that the ob- 
jects of their investigation are scarcely three leagues 
from the town.” 

“I must really compliment you on your fore- 
thought,” cried De Rosann. Had I been by myself, 
I should have certainly acted differently, and have en- 
deavoured to place as great a distance between me 
and Brest, and that in as short a time, as possible.” 

You were brought up a gentleman, De Rosann, 
and I a scamp — an adventurer — a good-for-nothing fel- 
low,” returned Belle-Rose with a smile : but the 
Gendarmes are seldom outwitted by the gentleman ; 
they can only be cheated by men that have had a lit- 
tle experience in a certain way. Now, I dare swear, 
the other convict, who has escaped this morning, is 
ten leagues further from the town than we are : that is, 
if he be not an old hand. And in case my supposition 
is correct, he stands a thousand more chances of being 
captured than we do.” 

‘^Hark!” cried De Rosann: ^Mid you not hear 
something — a rustling amongst the trees?” 

‘‘Yes; but it is nothing,” answered Belle-Rose 
without a moment’s hesitation, and without lowering 
his voice. “Fear changes the terrified pace of a rat 
or a rabbit into the trampling of a Gendarme’s horse ; 
whereas presence of mind hears sounds as they really 
are.” 

De Rosann coloured at this rebuke ; but he knew 
that he deserved it, and that Belle-Rose did not utter 
it maliciously: he therefore said nothing. 

“ We are now near the extremity of the wood, and 


140 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


must repose ourselves once more/^ said Belle-Rose, 
after a long pause, during which they had uncon- 
sciously quickened their pace. “ I did not know we 
were quite so far from the hut of the worthy Claude, 
who, by-the-bye, is a most consummate ass with his 
rigorous ideas of justice, and of the necessity of 
maintaining social order at the expense of humanity.^^ 

‘‘I confess,’’ said De Rosann, “one may push jus- 
tice to such an extremity, that it changes its name and 
becomes cruelty.” 

“What can you expect from barbarian ignorance? 
Tell him and his family an anecdote of Napoleon, and 
they will worship you. Solicit their hospitality, and 
they give you food and shelter with pleasure : but lay 
yourself open to them, throw your life upon their 
mercy, confess-that you are a format evade, and they 
will eject you from their dwelling, as if there were 
pestilence in your very breath.” 

“And yet, with the most rude and uncultured 
minds, the harmony of music has a powerful sway,” 
said De Rosann. “ Shakspeare — the pride of English 
dram.atic authors — has a splendid idea on the subject. 
But the sun is declining fast — the shades of evening 
will soon envelope us — and meseems that we have 
rested well and often during the day.” 

“ In half an hour we will pursue our march towards 
Morlaix,” answered Belle-Rose. “ In the neighbour- 
hood of that town I know where we can procure both 
supper and bed, should you feel tired. The former 
is essential: as to the latter, we may decide anon.” 

“ Act entirely according to your own judgment ; I 
shall not be weary, if it be necessary to travel the whole 
night. When one is situated as we are, he must not 
attend to mere comforts.” 

“ In this case,” returned Belle-Rose, “ we may do 
as it seems good to us. Our safety is not compromised 
by sleeping at the cottage whither I am about to con- 
duct you : and I have already given my reasons for 
not wishing to hasten too precipitately away from the 
neighbourhood.” 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


141 


A sudden rustling amongst the trees interrupted 
this conversation. Belle-Rose listened for a moment 
-—the noise continued — and his experienced ear told 
him that it was caused by the footsteps of a man. He 
caught hold of Be Rosann’s arm, and whispered his 
suspicions in as low a tone of voice as possible: but 
the sudden alarm so terrified the mind of our hero, that 
he started up from the bank on which they were 
seated, and advanced several paces towards the out- 
side of the wood, ere he was stopped by his companion. 
This unguarded conduct on the part of De Rosann, 
instead of betraying them to a foe, proved of consider- 
able benefit: for the disturbance their movements had 
made amongst the dead leaves strewed upon the 
ground, apparently alarmed the individual who had 
first terrified them; and in an instant they heard him 
retreating into the thickest recesses of the wood, with 
a speed which nothing but an extreme terror could 
have occasioned. 

‘‘That is no Gendarme,’’ cried Belle-Rose, laughing 
heartily. 

“But he may be the convict for whom the guns . 
fired a third time,” returned De Rosann. 

“Very probably; and if so, I am glad he has failed 
to encounter us; for we could not have easily refused 
the poor devil the pleasure of travelling in our society; 
and that would have disorganized all our plans, as well 
as have endangered our personal security. But it is 
now some time since the sun has set: let us hasten 
and conclude our first day’s march.” 

Belle-Rose and our hero accordingly emerged from 
the wood, which had stood them in such friendly 
need, and pursued their journey across the open fields. 

A clear moon soon showed its chaste disk, and a cloud- 
less sky, spangled with a thousand stars, was above 
their heads. No danger was to be dreaded as to Belle- 
Rose missing his way: the whole country was better 
known to him than a private estate is to its owner. 
Everything appeared to favour their flight and to in- 
spire them with courage; and if De Rosann occasioa^ 


142 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


ally heaved a sigh, it was when he thought of his 
absent Eloise: but he determined to write to her on 
the first opportunity, and inform her of his escape, 
and of his intention to revisit Paris. He knew that his 
letters would be welcome; and that his presence would 
" be a thousand times more so; and he consoled him- 
self with the certainty of her unalterable love. 

Little or no conversation passed between our hero 
and his companion, 'as they hastened forward in the 
silence of the night; each appeared occupied with his 
own reflections. In this manner they completed about 
four leagues, when suddenly a light met their eyes. 
Belle-Rose pointed to it as the beacon of their destina- 
tion; and in ten minutes they stopped at the door of 
a large cottage, from the windows of which emanated 
the lustre that had struck them in the distance. Belle- 
Rose gave a low knock, and w^as immediately invited 
to enter. He beckoned De RoStinn to follow him; and 
they found themselves in a commodious chamber, a 
good fire burning in the hearth, and some slices of meat 
cooking upon embers by the side. A middle-aged 
man, and a woman some few years younger, were 
seated at a table, on which a tureen of smoking soup 
was already served: a couple of children, with chubby 
faces and red hands, were playing in a corner. An 
air of neatness and comfort reigned throughout the 
modest dwelling; polished saucepans of glittering cop- 
per adorned the walls; nosegays, arranged upon the 
mantlepiece in a tasteful manner, shed a sweet per- 
fume around; and the white table-napkin evinced the 
care of a thrifty housewife. 

The peasants recognised Belle-Rose the moment he 
entered, and welcomed both him and his companion 
with the utmost cordiality; De Rosann soon found 
himself perfectly at his ease, and joined in the con- 
versation of his hospitable entertainers without the 
slightest restraint; while the little boys continued 
their sport in the corner, apparently not much trou- 
bling themselves about the new arrivals. 

It is sometinae since we have had the pleasure of 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


143 


seeing you, friend Belle-Rose,’’ said the host, as he 
served the steaming which had a much better 
odour than that of the upright Claude. 

“Yes, Theodore,” returned the. worthy Pierre; 
“ and I have this day done what you and I did a few 
years ago together.” 

“How? what!” exclaimed Theodore: “and your 
comrade as well?” 

“Precisely. After supper, when the brats have 
gone to bed, I will recount to you the whole adven- 
ture.” 

“Bravo!” cried the peasant, clapping his hands 
with joy: then turning to his better half, he said, in a 
tone of voice approximating a whisper, “ Marie, my 
love, you must regale us with a flask of your deceased 
uncle’s cognac, to welcome Monsieur Belle-Rose and 
his friend, and to celebrate their escape. You under- 
stand me?” 

The female gave a significant nod, and left the room 
for a few minutes, at the expiration of which she re- 
turned, hearing in her hand a quart bottle, or litre^ of 
the genuine spirit. Conviviality now reigned trium- 
phant; a variety of toasts were proposed and drank 
with enthusiasm, and Belle-Rose uttered a thousand 
facetious things, as the brandy gradually worked its 
effect upon him. Even De Rosann suffered his usual 
scruples to be overcome on this occasion; and he 
joined in the mirth of his companions with undis- 
guised pleasure, the novelty of his situation, the force 
of example, and the adventures of the day, baffling all 
punctiliousness. 

In the midst of the conviviality, when the glass was 
often filled and speedily emptied — when jests flowed 
unrestrained — and when every heart was gay, a loud 
knock at the door excited the attention of the revel- 
lers. Theodore rose to see who could be there at so 
late an hour; and a word from Belle-Rose reassured 
the drooping courage of De Rosann; for he instantly 
pictured to himself Gendarmes, chains, and dungeons. 
But his companion convinced him that no Gendarmes 


144 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


would visit the cottage at that time of night, and 
begged him not to give way to his alarms. 

Theodore had taken the precaution of closing the 
door after him; and as there was a large screen drawn 
between it and the table, on one side of the fire-place, 
the visiter, whoever he might be, could not possibly 
catch a glimpse of the inmates of the room. In about 
a minute the peasant returned, laughing so heartily, 
that tears ran down his cheeks. 

“ For God’s sake let us share the joke!” cried Belle- 
Rose. 

He must be a rare witty fellow, that,” stammered 
Theodore, unable to restrain his mirth. 0 what a 
proposition! Can you fancy, my friends — a man who 
implores my hospitality — and such hospitality as he 
solicits — Oh! Oh!” 

“ A supper and a bed, to be sure,” exclaimed Belle- 
Rose. 

Yes — a piece of dry bread for supper — there is 
no harm in that : but the bed — all he wants is the 
pigstye!” 

A roar of laughter followed this explanation, and 
Belle-Rose declared his intention of introducing the 
man whose ambition soared no higher than a pigstye 
for a couch. But just as he was about to raise the 
latch, a sudden idea struck him, and he retraced his 
steps towards the table. 

Do you know, my friends,” said he with a seri- 
ous air, that the request of this nocturnal visiter is 
somewhat singular? It strikes me he is the convict 
for whose flight the guns fired the third time this 
moj;ning. At all events, let us be upon our guard; 
and'^ it does not suit myself nor my comrade to as- 
sociate with the fugitive, if it be he, you, Theodore, 
had better accede to his request: give him a bed in 
an outhouse — ” 

There is none.” 

Well, in the pigstye, then, since that cleanly 
tenement can content him; and we will send the poor 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


145 


fellow the relics of our supper, with a glass of cognac 
to cheer his spirits.” 

Theodore hastily collected together the remnants 
of the meat and bread, which were upon the table, 
and having poured out a tolerable quantum of brandy 
into a glass, he hastened to administer to the wants 
of the wretched being, whose situation was so deplo- 
rable as to force him to solicit the boon that excited 
such general mirth. In about five minutes he return- 
ed; a smile was still on his countenance, but it was 
mingled with an expression of pity. Marie wiped 
a tear from her eyes, and turned away to conceal her 
emotion. 

I endeavoured to make the poor fellow comfort- 
able,” said Theodore; “he trembled like a leaf; but 
it was more through fear than cold. He told me that 
he had not eaten a morsel since the morning, and 
that he had wandered nearly all day in a wood. I 
forbore asking any questions, contenting myself with 
assuring him that he might sleep in peace on my 
premises, and that he was heartily welcome. Had it 
not been so dark, he might have seen that I made but 
a foolish face, when I hammered out a lame excuse 
for not inviting him to enter the cottage. He was 
very grateful, however, poor fellow; and I think I 
heard him weep, as he took the food from my hand. 
So soon as the gray of morning appears, I will give 
him some provisions, and dismiss him before you 
rise from your beds.” 

These last words were addressed to Belle-Rose and 
De Rosann; and reminded them that they needed a 
good night^s rest after the fatigue's of the day. They 
accordingly thanked their kind hosts for the hospi- 
tality they had met with, and retired to the chamber 
which had been prepared by the industrious Marie 
for their reception. 


VOL. I. — 13 


146 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


CHAPTER XIIL 

THE FAR M-H OUSE. 

Scarcely had the first ray of twilight announced 
the dawn, when Theodore left Ids bed, and sought 
the larder, to arrange a hasty breakfast for the tra- 
veller, whose contented disposition had solicited no 
better couch than the abode of the unclean animal. 
The hospitable peasant hastily piled some slices of 
cold meat on a huge piece of bread, to which were 
added a morsel of cheese, and a pint bottle of sour 
wine; and armed with these luxuries, he sallied forth 
to visit the modest stranger. 

As he approached the stye, the noise of his foot- 
steps aroused the slumbering swine; and an immense 
pig, doubtless fancying that its morning meal was 
close at hand, made a rush towards the door of the 
covered den, to force an egress into the yard adjoin- 
ing. But, in performing this very natural movement, 
the unwieldly animal placed one of his feet on the 
countenance of the sleeping stranger; and that indi- 
vidual, whose head was apparently full of Gendarmes, 
and whose dreams were peopled with nothing but 
police-officers, turnkeys, and inspectors, awoke in a 
terrible fright, and set up a most fearful howl, per- 
fectly convincedin his own mind that the unsaintly 
hand of a functionary of justice had thus assailed his 
person. Not contented with exercising the powers 
of his voice to their highest key, he also availed him- 
self of the possession of arms and legs, and com- 
menced a vigorous attack on the sides and head of 
the offending beast, which kicked and plunged in 
return, and squeaked a discordant chorus to the cries 
of its assailant. The battle was raging in all its fury 
when Theodore arrived to put an end to it; and having 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


147 


deposited his viands in a place of safety, he leapt into 
the stye to restore order. A separation of the com- 
batants was speedily effected; but the stranger was 
in a most dismal plight. His clothes were one mass 
of filth — their original colour could not possibly be 
distinguished — and his face was covered with the 
greasy mire. Theodore experienced the utmost diffi- 
culty to suppress a hearty laugh; he, however, suc- 
ceeded in overcoming his incipient mirth, and assisted 
the unfortunate being to escape from the dirty tene- 
ment he had occupied during the night. The stranger 
muttered some words expressive of his gratitude; but 
Theodore cut him short with a smile, and led him 
towards the pump, thinking that a good wash would 
be of more service to him than all the talking in the 
world. 

Stay cried Theodore, an idea flashing across 
his brain: “ it is totally impossible you can travel in 
those clothes — they are covered with filth — and, to tell 
the truth, emit no very agreeable exhalation. Besides, 
we must never do things by halves in this world: I 
have been in difficulties myself ere now — although, 
thank God, I obtained a full pardon — and the death 
of Marie’s uncle made us comfortable. But, while I 
am talking here, you are shivering with cold. Wait 
one moment, and I will bring you a change of raiment 
— of which,” added the peasant, when he was at a 
little distance, I think no man ever stood in greater 
need.” 

Theodore did not suffer many moments to elapse 
before he returned to the spot where he left the 
stranger, whose joy knew no bounds when the kind- 
hearted peasant unfolded a complete suit of clothes. 
It was true that they were neither new nor of the 
finest texture; but to a man, whose raiment has been 
rolled in a pigstye, anything in the shape of apparel 
would wear a cheering aspect. The soiled garments 
were soon exchanged for the cleanly ones; and 
Theodore produced the substantial breakfast he had 
brought to allay the cravings of the guest’s appetite. 


148 


ALFRED DE ROSA^fN. 


To be brief, the poor devil recommenced his march, 
somewhat happier than when he knocked at the cottage 
door on the previous evening; and Theodore felt 
satisfied with himself for having rendered a service 
to a fellow-creature in distress. 

In the meantime De Rosann and Belle-Rose had 
awakened from their slumbers, evidently refreshed 
with their night’s rest, and in good spirits to continue 
their journey. 

‘‘ We shall arrive in the neighbourhood of St. Brieue 
at a suitable hour this evening,” said Belle-Rose; “ and 
will sleep outside the walls. To-morrow-night we 
shall see the spires of St. Malo, and the next morning 
we can walk leisurely into the town, put up at a se- 
cond rate auberge,^ and send the landlord to have 
our passports signed at the Hotel-de-Ville. When a 
respectable housekeeper thus ansvvers for you, it is 
not necessary to go thither in person.” 

‘‘And how are we to settle our account at the ta- 
vern ?” inquired De Rosann, who found everything 
admirable in his companion’s scheme, except his si- 
lence on that head. 

“I have a little purse that will answer all exigen- 
cies,” was the reply. “ Do you not recollect the w’or- 
thy uncle’s present at Versailles, where you shammed 
his nephew with a handkerchief over your head ?” 

“And yet I did not notice that you transferred it 
from your prison-garb to your present apparel, when 
old Plombier gave us a change of clothes in his little 
lodge.” 

“ Suffice it for you to know, my dear De Rosann, 
that I have a few Napoleons in my pocket now,” re- 
turned Belle-Rose, pulling out four or five pieces of 
the gold coin he named. “But,” added he, perceiv- 
ing that Alfred was lost in astonishment, “ I see you 
cannot comprehend how I passed that money into the 
prison at Brest; and the way I concealed it must for 
ever remain a secret, even from you.” 


* An inn. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


149 


“It appears you are well acquainted with Theodore,’^ 
said Alfred, desirous of turning the conversation. 

“ He and I escaped together from Brest, replied 
Belle-Rose, “ and like Leblond, he is grateful for my 
aid and advice on that occasion. You see he is now 
settled down as a sober peasant : he possesses an acre 
or two of land round this cottage, which is also his 
own property ; and having renounced the follies of 
youth, he passes his time in tranquil rural felicity.’’ 

“ And does nDt that picture of domestic happiness, 
which you have just now so ably drawn, induce you 
to imitate his example ?” asked De Rosann. 

“ Not in the least,” answered Belle-Rose: “ I could 
not dwell in the country, in the first place : the re- 
straint of a trade, profession, or fixed employment, 
would be insupportable ; and the idea of a parcel of 
squalling children is enough to drive one mad. No,” 
continued Pierre, his eyes lighting up with a sudden 
brilliancy, “ such an existence would never suit me. 
Give me the gay capital — the first city in the universe 
— its boulevards, its Palais Royal, its theatres, its re- 
staurants, and its cafh — and I can be happy!” 

“Enthusiast!” exclaimed De Rosann. 

“'Yes — while conversing on this subject, I am, in- 
deed, enthusiastic. But when I call to mind the happy 
hours I have passed in that brilliant metropolis — when 
I think of the thousand pleasures it contains, and the 
ever-varying delights in which it abounds, I do not 
wonder that foreigners flock thither in crowds, and 
tear themselves with difficulty away from the Circean 
rock ; nor am I astonished that so many are daily ruined 
and undone by the charms of the luxurious city!” 

The entrance of Theodore, who came to summon 
his guests to the morning’s repast, interrupted this 
conversation. 

“ And what have you done with the man of a deli- 
cate taste?” inquired Belle-Rose; upon which the 
peasant narrated all that had taken place both in and 
out of the pigstye. 

“ Was he handsome or ugly — tall or short — fat or 
13 * 


150 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


thin — in fine, which are his characteristics, that we 
may consider whether he be a convict, and if we can 
recognise him or not.’’ 

‘‘ To tell you the truth,” answered Theodore, “ I 
did not dare look him in the face, when he had once 
divested himself of the dirt that at first enveloped his 
person, for fear of laughing outright : but as far as I 
can recollect, he was moderately stout — not very tall 
— tolerably ugly — and awkward in his gait.” 

“That is a description, my dear Theodore, calcu- 
lated to suit nine men out of any ten,” cried Belle- 
Rose with a smile : “ it is easy to perceive that you 
have never been a clerk in the passport office at the 
Prefecture de Police. But let us leave the hero of 
the stye alone for the present, and think of the repast 
which the gentle Marie has prepared for us.” 

“ SoitP^ said Theodore; and they all three descend- 
ed to the room where the orgies of the preceding 
evening had taken place, and where the breakfast was 
now spread upon the table. 

When the substantial repast was concluded, Belle- 
Rose and De Rosann took leave of their hospitable 
hosts, and pursued their journe}^, the former again 
enacting the part of guide as he had done the day be- 
fore. To be brief, they arrived in the neighbourhood 
of St. Brieue without encountering any adventure 
worthy of record; and on the following evening pur- 
sued their journey toward St. Malo. The weather 
was once more favourable to their march; the western 
breeze still swept the face of the verdant country, 
laden with the saline particles it had collected in its 
passage across the ocean ; and the whole aspect of 
nature was smiling and gay. The labourers were 
abroad, attending to the bounteous harvest which 
a rich soil produced; the songs of the peasant girls, 
hastening to their daily labour, mingled with the notes 
of birds, and made a sweet though incongruous mu- 
sic; the wild flowers, profusely spread around, gave 
a rich perfume to the elastic air, and adorned the 
broad plains on which herds of cattle were tranquilly 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


151 


grazing : here the green tobacco-plant occupied wide 
acres with its somniferous leaves — there incipient 
crops of corn, gracefully waving to the gentle breeze, 
were preparing for the destructive hand of the mower^ 
— on one side were thick groves of trees — on the other 
vineyards, soon to teem with heavy bunches of ripe 
grapes. All was one vast garden : scarcely a foot of 
earth, save the beaten pathways, was unoccupied by 
some flourishing fruit, vegetable, plant, or flower; there 
was no waste of land that the eye could detect. 

Belle-Rose and De Rosann often stopped to contem- 
plate the surrounding beauties of nature ; they were 
not in a hurry to arrive at the proposed end of 
their journey ; they had much more time before them 
than was necessary to complete the distance to which 
their march of that day vvas to extend; and they were 
both too glad to breathe the fresh air of the country, 
instead of the close atmosphere of a gaol, to deny 
themselves the pleasure of dwelling on a fine prospect 
and lovely scenery. 

It was not till nearly ten o’clock in the evening 
that they arrived within three or four miles of St. 
Malo. The innumerable lights of the town resem- 
bled the reflection of countless planets in a deep ocean; 
and our travellers hailed their vicinity as an assurance 
of safety, and a guarantee of success. They looked 
around them to discover a cottage, or isolated dwelling, 
where they might repose till morning; and the sharp 
eye of Belle-Rose soon distinguished a glimmering 
light at a little distance. Thither they bent their 
steps; and a quarter of an hour brought them to a 
large farm-house, whose antique gables and quaint 
architecture were visible beneath the rays of the moon 
that now emerged from behind the dusky vapours of 
night. A high railing surrounded the old building; 
and when De Rosann agitated the gate, which was 
carefully locked, the loud barking of a dog within the 

* In France the crops of grain are not cut down with a sickle^ 
but with a scythe. 


152 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


enclosure speedily aroused the attention of the in- 
mates. 

“Silence, Azor — silence!’^ cried the voice of a 
man who issued from the farm-house; and in a mo- 
ment the faithful animal ceased his discordant howl- 
ing. 

“ Two travellers claim your hospitality for the 
night; and where they meet with a friendly welcome, 
they are not ungrateful,’^ cried Belle-Rose, as the 
man approached the gate of the railing, and seemed to 
hesitate whether he should open it or not. But the 
frank and unsophisticated manner in which Pierre 
had uttered the above demand and assurance in the 
same breath, the respectable appearance of our hero 
and his companion, as far as could .be judged in an 
uncertain light, and the naturally kind disposition of 
the farmer — for he it was in person — terminated 
his doubts in favour of the two travellers, and the 
gate flew open to give them admittance. 

Introduced to the interior of the dwelling, neither 
De Rosann nor Belle-Rose were sorry to see a large 
fire burning on the ample hearth; for although the 
chilly season of the year had passed, still the nights 
were far from warm, and the damp air imparted a 
shivering sensation to those who were long exposed 
to it. 

“ Messieurs’’ said the farmer, when he had once 
more shut and barred the front door, “ you are as 
welcome to all my poor dwelling affords as if you 
were my own brothers. But I am afraid things will 
not be quite so comfortable as I could wish; for my 
wife is ill in bed with a fever — and a man, you know, 
makes but a sorry housekeeper.^’ 

“No apology is necessary,” returned De Rosann, 
drawing his stool closer to the fire; “a mouthful of 
bread is all that we require; for I fancy we are not 
more fatigued than hungry.” 

“ I do not mean to say that I have got nothing'but 
dry bread,” rejoined the farmer with a smile, as he 
opened a cupboard from which he took cold ham, 

♦ 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


153 


bouilli, and the remnants of a large turkey; all I 
wished you to know was that I am incapable of cook- 
ing rneats to serve up a hot supper: but such as the 
provisions are, eat and be welcome.’’ 

“Meseems that you make good cheer, my friend,” 
cried Belle-Rose, casting a glance at the turkey, and 
then turning to the farmer: to judge by your sup- 
pers, your dinners must be exquisite.” 

‘‘Ah! I understand your allusion,” answered the 
man: “ it is true we have fared'«sumpluously to-day 
— which is not our custom; for our means are lim- 
ited, and our wants easily satisfied. The fact is, that 
about four hours ago a carriage, broke down in the 
main road close by, and three travellers, with a ser- 
vant, were obliged to put up at my house; for one of 
the ladies — ” 

“There were ladies amongst them, eh?” inter- 
rupted Belle-Rose, in that careless manner which he 
frequently assumed. 

“Two ladies and a gentleman,” replied the farmer; 
“and the elder of the ladies hurt her ancle in such a 
manner that it was' impossible for her to proceed on 
foot, as the gentleman at first proposed. But it 
appears that they were in no particular hurry to arrive 
at St. Malo — and when I offered the use of my rooms, 
with good food, and good beds, the whole party re- 
solved upon staying here till the morning. That is 
the secret of the roast turkey and the boiled ham,” 
added the peasant with a smile. 

“Are we not intruding, then, upon your hospi- 
tality?” asked De Rosann. “Your house must be 
full — and we are perhaps two too ma'ny.” 

Not at all,” answered the farmer, with a sincerity 
that the most suspicious could not doubt; “ the dwell- 
ing is spaftious enough; and if you do not care about 
sleeping in a room that has never been occupied for 
upwards of thirty-three years, it is at your service. 
There are exactly two bedsteads in the apartment; 
and when you have done your supper, I will myself 


154 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


fetch a couple of mattresses, sheets, and blankets, to 
place upon them.” 

This will turn out an adventure, my dear fellow,” 
cried Belle-Rose, addressing himself to Alfred. A 
chamber not occupied for the third of a century — a 
haunted room, perhaps, such as you read of in the 
works of an English authoress of repute, Ann Rad- 
cliffe, I think. Oh! assuredly this is an adventure!” 
— and Belle-Rose laughed heartily at his conceit. 

“You do not believe in ghosts, then?” inquired 
the farmer with a singular expression of countenance, 
which involved a degree of mystery unintelligible to 
our hero and his fellow-traveller. 

“ Certainly not; nor does any rational being,” 
returned Belle-Rose, without a moment’s hesitation. 

“Nor I,” added the farmer; “and since you treat 
superstitious tales with the same ridicule as I do, I will 
explain wherefore the chamber in question has been 
locked up during a period of thirty-three years. Had 
you been afraid of spirits, I should have remained 
silent.” 

“ But you would have suffered us to sleep in your 
haunted room all the same,” interrupted De Rosann 
with a smile. 

Yes,” said the peasant, “ because I have no other 
apartment to give you, and because I know that you 
may sleep in that one with impunity, as the story of 
its being haunted is a silly fable handed down to me 
by my deceased father. It is as follows: — About 
thirty-three years ago my father was sitting one even- 
ing in this very room, when a violent knock at the 
gate aroused him from his supper, and drew hinr to 
the door. A traveller demanded a night’s lodging, as 
you, gentlemen, have done ere now, and as hundreds 
do in the course of the year. My father instantly 
invited the stranger to enter — sate him down to as 
good a supper as the house afforded — and, when his 
meal was concluded, showed him to the identical 
chamber which gave rise to this tale. Early on the 
following morning the house was surrounded by 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


155 


Gendarmes, and the stranger was taken prisoner. It 
appears that he had committed a most horrible mur- 
der on the person of some nobleman at Paris — ’’ 

“Was^not his name Francois exclaimed De 
Rosann, thrown entirely off his guard by the resem- 
blance which this singular tale bore to the one he had 
heard narrated at Brest, and recollecting the circum- 
stance of the deceased malefactor having lodged at a 
farm-house in the neighbourhood of St. Malo. 

That was his name,” returned the farmer, casting 
a searching glance at Alfred, who now noticed his 
inadvertency, and became red with confusion. 

We were reading o’ this very trial a day or two 
ago, in an old number of some journal,” said Belle- 
Rose hastily : ‘‘ but pray proceed ; your account 
tallies exactly with that which we perused in the 
newspaper.” 

‘‘'There is but little more to add,” continued the 
farmer, from w'hose mind all suspicion — had he for 
a moment entertained any — was entirely banished by 
the address of Belle-Rose. “ The stranger was con- 
veyed to prison, and was condemned to expiate his 
crime at the galleys for life. Since that moment the 
apartment he occupied has been closed up; for my 
father, who was somewhat superstitious, declared that 
the ghost of the murdered nobleman wmuld not fail to 
haunt it on the anniversary of the day when Frangois 
was arrested by the Gendarmes.” 

“ Has it never been opened?” inquired De Rosann. 

“ Once or twice I have myself visited it to show my 
wife that I am not afraid of ghosts or spirits,” answered 
the farmer ; “ but as the house is large enough for my 
small family, and for an occasional traveller or friend, 
I have never thought of turning the chamber to any 
use.” 

.“Well,” cried Belle-Rose, rising from his chair, 
“if you will have the goodness to conduct us to the 
haunted apartment, I will soon show you that my 
courage is not to be intimidated by the ghosts of all 
the murdered counts and marquises in France. But 


156 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


ere I receive any more favours at your hands, my 
worthy host, will you excuse me if I be impertinent 
in asking your name ?” 

Louis Dorval, at your service,^’ returned the 
farmer. 

“ I shall not forget it,^’ said Belle-Rose. “ Let us 
now proceed to the mysterious chamber.” 

Dorval — since the reader is at present acquainted 
with the name of the hospitable farmer — took the 
candlestick in his hand, and conducted his two guests 
up a narrow staircase that terminated in a gallery, 
along one side of which were windows looking into 
a yard at the back of the house, and on the other were 
the doors of the various bed-chambers. At the end 
of the corridor was the apartment destined to receive 
De Rosann and Belle-Rose. The lock for sometime 
resisted the strong hand of Dorval ; but it eventually 
yielded to the rusty key, and the travellers followed 
their guide into the haunted room. It was large and 
airy ; the ceiling was somewhat discoloured here and 
there with damps, which the heat of no occasional 
fire repressed ; and the bedsteads were mouldering 
away as rapidly as disuse and worms could consume 
them. 

“ Well — what do you think of the bed-chamber 
wherein you must this night repose ?” asked the 
farmer, holding up his candle to cast the light into as 
wide a circumference as possible. 

I see no reason why it should not be very com- 
fortable,” answered De Rosann. 

Nor I,” added Belle-Rose, with a yawn. 

“ I perceive you are fatigued,” said Dorval, “ and 
desirous of a good night’s rest. Stay one moment, 
and I will fetch your mattresses.” 

The farmer left the room as he uttered these words, 
and returned in a few minutes, laden with the neces- 
sary apparatus for making up the beds. The arrange- 
ments were speedily completed ; and having wished 
our hero and his companion an undisturbed repose, he 
withdrew to his own apartment. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


157 


No sooner had Louis Dorval closed the door of the 
haunted apartment, as it was called, than Belle-Rose 
hastily threw off his clothes, and took refuge against 
the damp air in his warm bed. De Rosann made two 
or three remarks relative to the singularity of their 
arrival at the very house in which Frangois had been 
arrested ; but a few unmeaning monosyllables were 
all the replies he could obtain. He therefore relin- 
quished the unpleasant task of maintaining a conver- 
sation alone, and soon saw the utility of so doing ; for 
a certain nasal music, emanating from Belle-Rose’s 
couch, made him aware of the attention which would 
be paid to his discourse. 

De Rosann himself did not experience the slightest 
inclination to sleep. A thousand ideas occupied his 
mind, and repelled the advance of slumber. He no 
longer felt fatigued with the effects of his day’s 
journey, nor did he once think of courting the charms 
of sleep by retiring to his bed. He recollected that 
in the identical chamber, where he was now seated, a 
murderer had reposed three-and-thirty ye^ars ago. 
Perhaps he had slept in the very bed destined to 
receive himself. De Rosann was not superstitious — 
he laughed in derision at the bare mention of a spirit, 
or an allusion to the possibility of the existence of 
ghosts — he believed that matter alone was visible, 
tangible, and capable of motion — he knew that when 
the organized body, called Man, had rendered up its 
life, sensations and organs performed their functions 
no longer, and that the decomposing clay could not 
return from the dark tomb to whose jaws it-was con- 
signed ; and at the moment when he found himself 
alone, as it were — for Belle-Rose slept soundly — in 
the apartment that recalled a thousand terrible images 
to his mind, he did not dread the sudden appearance 
of aught supernatural ; but he felt a species of indes- 
cribable awe — an aversion to close his eyes — a ner- 
vousness that made him start at each trivial sound — 
which the bravest occasionally feel when in peculiar 

VOL. I. — 14 


158 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


situations, and which are invariably experienced 
during a vigil by the side of a corpse. 

It was in vain that he endeavoured to change the 
subject of his reflections. Imagination is often obsti* 
nate, as well as fanciful; and we may occasionally 
essay to turn the rush of torrents from their course, 
or to roll back the Alpine avalanche, with the same 
chance of success as hope to banish unpleasant ideas, 
in order to make room for felicitous ones. The gory 
head of Frangois rolling away from the platform of 
the guillotine — the disfigured trunk that remained 
upon the horizontal plank — the shapeless mass of 
dead flesh which had fallen at his feet during the riot, 
and which he knew was the massacred body of 
Edouard — then the solemn silence of the chamber, 
the dim flickering of the candle, the dubious shadows 
it cast upon the wall, and the low respiration of Belle- 
Rose, who, having changed his position, breathed hard 
no longer — all these agitated the mind of De Rosann, 
and expelled every inclination to slumber. 

This is childish!” he at length exclaimed, as he 
caught himself looking fearfully round the room after 
a sudden noise; ‘‘ t scarcely know what I am doing 
— to be terrified at the sound of a mouse, or the creak- 
ing of the timber — perhaps a beam opening, and eva- 
cuating confined air, a circumstance which often hap- 
pens in old houses;” — and he endeavoured to laugh 
at his folly, but the echo returned his mirth in such 
dismal reverberations, that they resembled human 
groans — or at least his fancy invented the similitude. 
‘‘And there are strangers in the spacious dwelling,” 
continued he, musing aloud : “ how ridiculous it would 
be to disturb them with my idle fears. Still this room 
is lonely — a murderer has slept — that is to say, lodged 
here; for sleep could not have visited his eyes. — A 
gentleman and two ladies — in a carriage, with a ser- 
vant — to condescend to honour these miserable walls 
with their presence! — It would have been as well had 
that Louis Dorval not troubled us with his tale about 
poor Frangois — the unfortunate old man, who was 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


159 


betrayed by Edouard, and was guillotined but so short 
a time ago. Every one sleeps — Belle-Rose sleeps — 
all eyes in this house are closed save mine; and I can- 
not sleep. The idea of that old man — with his gray 
hair — and they did not respect those hoary locks — 
but they severed his head from his body! And here 
am I, like the hero of some romance, shut up in a 
haunted chamber, and afraid of my own shadow; not 
even like the hero — for the first thing universally done 
in such situations is to examine the apartment—^an 
operation I have not yet had the courage to per- 
form.’’ 

Pleased with the itiea, which partially renovated 
his sinking spirits, De Rosann seized the candle, and 
walked round the room on tip-toe. On each side of 
a spacious fire-place were large cupboards, with doors 
carved in an antique style, standing half opened, and 
revealing the dusty shelves within. Alfred cast a 
hasty glance into the first; but, as he expected, found 
nothing. He then proceeded to the second, and was 
about to retire after even a slighter investigation than 
he had bestowed on the former recess, when a small 
bundle of papers, entirely covered with dust, met his 
eyes. A sudden idea struck him — rapidly as the 
flash of lightning darts across the vaulted heaven. 
He placed the candle on the mantle-piece, for table 
there was none; and having assured himself that Belle- 
Rose slept, he drew the packet from the corner 
wherein it lurked. A thick piece of parchment, that 
had already materially suffered from the damps, en- 
veloped a quantity of papers, many of which were 
half destroyed by age or vermin: several of them 
were, however, still legible, and one or two existed 
entire, having escaped the tooth of the mouse, and the 
undying hand of time. De Rosann cast a hasty glance 
over the first that came to hand — the word “ Denne- 
ville” met his eye! Not a doubt that these were 
the documents of which Francois made mention in 
his tale, remained in his mind; and he hailed the 
possession of those papers with an internal satisfac- 


160 


ALFRED DE ROSAIVN. 


tion, and a feeling of delight, that he could not ac- 
count for. 

His first impulse was to sit down and decypher one 
of the letters, for such the documents proved to be: 
but at that moment a voice within him appeared to 
ask, “ If he were justified in perusing those papers, 
and in retaining possession of them ? Was he cer- 
tain no relative to the deceased marquis still existed? 
and if there were any surviving scions of the ancient 
family, would it not be a robbery to withhold deeds 
that were perhaps important?’^ These reflections 
made De Rosann hesitate; and then the fear that Belle- 
Rose might awake and suspect the nature of his occu- 
pation, determined him to refrain from satisfying his 
curiosity, at least for the present. He accordingly 
divided the papers into two or three parcels, concealed 
them about his person, and carefully burnt the parch- 
ment which had enveloped them, as well as a few 
scraps where the writing was totally illegible, or 
where there had never been any. 

No sooner had De Rosann concluded this arrange- 
ment, than a strange suspicion entered his mind that 
Belle-Rose was not asleep. He gently approached 
the bed, and gazed upon the features of his compa- 
nion; but not the slightest evidence appeared to sup- 
port the supposition. Belle-Rose slumbered tranquilly 
on his pillow — De Rosann coughed somewhat loudly 
— and the noise produced no effect. Our hero accord- 
ingly retreated towards his own couch, satisfied that 
Belle-Rose did not feign the deep sleep in which he 
was apparently wrapped. 

And now a long train of reflections was again 
awakened in the mind of De Rosann. Two circum- 
stances appeared to exercise a vast influence over his 
future fortunes. The documents he had just possessed 
himself of, and the secret service in which he was en- 
gaged, were the arbiters of his destiny. But what 
was that secret service? who was Leblond? and where 
were the all-seeing, the omniscient powers he was 
engaged to serve? In the most civilized country on 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


161 


the face of the earth, and in an enlightened age, a spe- 
cies of freemasonry appeared to exist, which could 
control the actions of the functionaries of the govern- 
ment itself — which could emancipate criminals and 
the condemned at will — which, with influence as great 
as it was invisible, could protect its notaries in the far- 
off provinces, and which slumbered in tranquillity and 
safety like the train in the terrible mine, which will 
shortly explode and involve in ruin those beneath 
whose very feet it has long been working unsuspect- 
ed and secure. But the more De Rosann pondered 
upon this subject, the more was he lost in conjecture 
and doubt; a strange presentiment, however, told him 
that his own destinies were to be worked out by those 
of others; and all his bewildered mind could resolve 
upon was to follow the stream of that fate which 
would either carry him onward to success and fortune, 
or to a condition of wo and despair. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

VARIOUS ENCOUNTERS. 

When the condition of an individual is apparently 
the most forlorn and pitiable — when the dark horizon 
of his own sphere is illuminated with not one single 
gleam of hope — when the dark clouds of despair 
hover around him — and when his mind is reduced to 
the lowest ebb of despondency and sorrow, how sud- 
denly may a bright meteor dart across that gloomy 
horizon — how rapidly may the rays of the rising sun 
dispel those dark clouds around him — and how quickly 
may hope and gladness elate that mind, which only 
a few moments before entertained almost the ideas 
of the darkly-brooding suicide. These are periods 
n the lives of all individuals : there breathes not a 
14 ^ 


162 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


man of advanced age, who has not had his chequered 
and sad moments as well as his joyous and glad ones : 
but the hour of bitterness, when the*^ gall is the most 
nauseous, is the precursor of one of change, in which 
the cup shall be filled with honey. 

The possession of the mysterioins papers quite 
changed the current of De Rosann’s thoughts. He 
felt that were he to retire to his bed, he could now 
taste the sweets of repose, and imitate the example of 
his companion. He no longer cast terrified glances 
around the dismal and naked walls of the haunted 
apartment ; the slightest sound failed to startle him 
as it had done a quarter of an hour before. He there- 
fore determined to avail himself of the few hours 
that intervened between the present moment and the 
morning, and seek a partial indemnification for the 
gloomy vigils he had hitherto kept. But scarcely was 
his mind made up to court the favours of Morpheus, 
when the sudden loud barkingof Azor called him to the 
window, and at the same moment awoke Belle-Rose, 
who started up, rubbed his eyes, and inquired the 
reason of so unseemly a clamour. 

“ I can discover nothing,” said De Rosann, hang- 
ing half-way out of the window which he had opened, 
and looking around with straining eyes. 

“ What ! you have not been in bed, then ?” ex- 
claimed Belle-Rose, noticing that his companion was 
still drest. 

I have not taken off my clothes,” returned- De 
Rosann.’ “But can you conceive the cause of this 
incessant barking ? The dog evidently hears or sees 
something strange.” 

“ What o’clock do you suppose it to be ?” inquired 
Belle-Rose. 

“ About one, or half past,” was the reply. 

“ Impossible, my dear fellow ! See how light it 
is.” 

“And yet that glare is quite sudden,” remarked 
De Rosann ; “it is not the dawn of morning : all 
round the eastern horizon, where it should be light, 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


163 


the clouds are quite dark ; and immediately above 
our heads, there is a strange lustre.” 

“ Mille homhes ! De Rosann,” ejaculated Belle- 
Rose, after a pause of some minutes ; “ do you not find 
the atmosphere very oppressive ?” 

I thought so, and was about to notice the circum- 
stance : there is, moreover, a suffocating smell.” 

“ And that smell is of fire, as sure as we are living 
men !” cried Belle-Rose, hastily quitting the window, 
and putting on his clothes with all possible despatch. 

‘‘ The dog barks incessantly,” observed De Rosann : 
‘‘the light increases above the house, and the air 
becomes heavier : I am certain there is a fire some- 
where.” 

“ Wait one instant for me, and we will descend the 
stairs together : if there be any danger, we can alarm 
the inmates of the house; if not, we may return quietly 
to our beds.” 

But the intentions of Belle-Rose were anticipated : 
for ^t the moment he had uttered the last syllable of 
these words, the voice of Louis Dorval was heard in 
the enclosure below, crying; out “ Fire ! fire !” — then 
the noise of his footsteps, as he ascended the stairs, and 
rushed up and 'down the corridor, knocking at the 
doors, and repeating his terrible call, showed that he 
was on the alert. 

Not, when in the prisons of the Inquisition, the 
awful command to prepare for the celebration of the 
auto-da-fe was passed round to those who were con- 
demned to suffer — nor, when in the gallant vessel, 
that laboured' to the storm, the heart-rending shout 
of “A rock ! a rock !” echoed along the sea-washed 
decks — not even there did those appalling news create 
more terror, than was experienced by the female in- 
mates of the farm-house, as the fearful warning which 
Dorval gave at every door met their ears. 

Belle-Rose and De Rosann descended to the yard 
to ascertain which part of the house was on fire, and 
whether it were not possible to arrest the progress of 
the ravaging element. But the whole of the roof 


164 


ALFRED BE ROSANN. 


was enveloped in flames, that ascended in high and 
bright columns like the eruption from the mounts of 
^tna or Vesuvius. The immediate vicinity of the 
spacious dwelling was as light as day ; and the glare 
was almost too dazzling for the eye to support. There 
was not a breath of wind to agitate or excite the fire ; 
but the house was old, rafters and beams of wood had 
been chiefly used in erecting it, and an immense 
quantity of straw occupied a portion of the loft, or 
grenier, between the second floor and the angular 
roof. There was consequently ample fuel to feed 
the spreading flames ; and our hero and his comrade 
soon saw the impossibility of saving the house from 
an entire conflagration. 

Having mournfully and hastily satisfied themselves 
on this head, they immediately turned their attention 
to the saving of the furniture, and to assist the two 
ladies, an3 the sick wife of the unfortunate Dorval, to 
escape from the burning pile in safety. The farmer 
himself behaved like a man of courage and resolution 
on the occasion. He saw as well as De Rosann and 
Belle-Rose that it was ridiculous to think of stopping 
the fire ; and instead of giving way to useless grief^ 
he bestirred himself to extricate as much of his pro- 
perty as he was able from the building, which would 
soon be a heap of ruins. Fortunately his wife, by 
means of an extraordinary exertion, was enabled to 
rise from her bed, ill as she was, and walk slowly 
down stairs ; but the poor woman appeared to be 
stupified with alarm and horror at the dreadful loss 
her husband would experience ; and no sooner did 
she arrive in the open air, than she fainted. Belle- 
Rose and Dorval placed the helpless female in a chair, 
and conveyed her to an adjoining barn, where they 
administered the proper remedies to recover her. 

In the meantime De Rosann had re-entered the 
house, and sought the apartments of the ladies, natu- 
rally supposing that the one, whose ancle was sprained, 
would require assistance. Just as he was about to 
knock at the first door, it was thrown open, and the 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


165 


younger of the ladies rushed out, calling loudly for 
the servant and the gentleman that accompanied 
them. There was no candle in the corridor; but the 
glare of the flames rendered it as light as day. De 
Rosann cast one glance upon the beautiful girl who 
had issued from the chamber — that fairy form, that 
lovely face, that melodious voice were too well im- 
pressed upon his memory ever to be forgotten — he 
littered an exclamation of joy — and in a moment 
Eloise was clasped in the arms of her lover. 

“Your mother and uncle are with you inquired 
Alfred hastily. 

“Yes — but you, dear Alfred — how have you es- 
caped from that odious place?’’ inquired Eloise, for- 
getful at the instant of all the world save him she 
adored. 

“ To-morrow — presently — I will tell you all, dear 
Eloise,” answered the young man ; “ at this moment 
let us think of your mother.” 

And with these words he imprinted another kiss 
upon the chaste brow of that affectionate girl, then 
gently disengaged himself from her fervent embrace, 
and hurried into the room to assist the parent of his 
beloved Eloise. 

“Do not be astonished at my presence here, Mrs. 
Clayton !” cried De Rosann ; “ but haste and save 
yourself, for the fire gains upon us.” 

“Alfred de Rosann!” exclaimed the mother, sink- 
ing back in her chair, as if she were confronted by a 
spectre. 

“Yes — ’tis I, madam,” returned the youth: “hasten, 
I pray you — we can talk anon — this is no time or 
place for explanation. Support yourself well on my 
— Eloise assist your mother the other side — and 
now away from this chamber.” 

Mrs. Clayton was scarcely able to walk, her ankle 
pained her to such a degree ; and the party would 
have moved onwards but slowly, had not Mr. Clay- 
ton stepped forward and made his niece resign her 
place to him. His astonishment on recognising De 


166 ALFRED DE ROSANN. 

Rosann was equal to that of his companions when 
they first respectively saw the young man, whom 
they deemed to be shackled in an ignominious gaol ; 
but his joy equalled his astonishment, and he ad- 
dressed a few words of kindness to our hero in the 
most affectionate manner. Eloise inwardly thanked 
the good man who had exemplified so unequivocal a 
proof of his regard for her and her lover ; and she 
sighed heavily when she thought of the different wel- 
come Alfred had received from her mother. 

Arrived with difficulty in the court-yard, Mrs. 
Clayton was conducted to the out-house, where the 
farmer’s wife already lay on a bed hastily contrived 
of mattresses, &c., as those objects were saved piece- 
meal from the ravages of the fire. It was a species 
of barn, in which the ladies were fain to take refuge ; 
and being situate at a little distance from the house, 
there was no danger of the flames communicating to 
its roof, which was composed of thatched straw, as is 
usual with buildings of the kind. 

Eloise did all she possibly could to console her suf- 
fering parent, while De Rosann joined Belle-Rose and 
Dorval in their herculean task of removing the furni- 
ture from the burning house to the extremity of the 
enclosure, so that the falling firebrands might not 
reach any inflammable matter. Mr. Clayton aided 
the servant in securing the trunks and goods which 
had been brought from the carriage and transported to 
the apartments whence himself and the ladies were 
now exiled by the conflagration. 

Meantime the fire had rapidly increased, and a 
great portion of the roof had already fallen in. The 
red flames emitted volumes of black smoke, pieces of 
burning wood fell in all directions, and the progress 
of the destructive element resembled the sound of a 
distant tide flowing in on a beachy shore without the 
occasional intervals caused by the reacting ebb. The 
countenances of those who laboured hard to save the 
effects of the unfortunate Louis Dorval, were rendered 
hideous by the glare of yellow light that gave an un- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


167 


natural tinge to everything within its scope ; and 
their figures, increased to gigantic stature in the de- 
ceptive lustre, appeared to be those of devils hover- 
ing round an accursed furnace, in which the souls of 
the damned were suffering endless torments. 

Presently the entire roof gave way with a hideous 
crash ; and for an instant the flames appeared to be 
totally extinguished, a thick cloud of smoke ascending 
in their place. Then all was dark and sombre : but 
in a minute the fire burst forth with renewed vigour, 
as a combatant returns to the charge more furiously 
after a momentary rest. So terrible was the heat, 
that the farmer and his generous assistants were at 
length obliged to retire from the immediate vicinity 
of the house, having rescued nearly everything from 
the increasing desolation: the panes of glass melted 
away from their frames, and did not break ; rafters, 
planks, and tiles fell with appalling din; smoke min- 
gled with flame — staircases and floors gave way — the 
bare walls alone remained. 

Morning now dawned on the pile of ruins, and the 
beams of the rising sun glanced upon the devastation 
as if it were still the large and joyous dwelling that 
greeted their presence the day before. Alas ! what a 
change had taken place in a few short hours : a single 
night was sufficient to rob the unfortunate Louis Dor- 
val of half his little possessions. When too late, he 
recollected that his own carelessness must have caused 
the fire ; he had ascended to the loft with a candle to 
fetch the mattresses for Belle-Rose and De Rosann; a 
spark had most probably caught the straw that was 
piled there in quantities ; and the ruin of his paternal 
dwelling might be traced to one of those combinations 
of circumstances over which mankind has apparently 
no control. 

At a distance of about a hundred yards from the 
out-house or barn where the females had taken refuge, 
was situate the stable. Belle-Rose, who had worked 
like a slave in the cause of the farmer, and who found 
that he could do no more good by standing idly in the 


168 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


neighbourhood of the smoking ruins, joyfully hailed 
a manger as a comfortable couch “for the rest of the 
nighV’ to use a common expression, although the sun 
had already risen above the eastern horizon. He 
quietly opened the door; and having assured himself 
that there were no dogs to dispute his right of en- 
trance into the sorry abode, he was about to betake 
himself to a bundle of hay which was spread in the 
midst of the stable, w'hen he recollected that De.Ro- 
sann might also stand in need of sleep. He accord- 
ingly sallied forth, and made known his discovery to 
our hero, who was far from displeased at the prospect 
of enjoying an hour’s repose, not having closed his 
eyes the whole night. They entered the stable, and 
carefully shut the door to expel the advances of the 
morning air, which imparted a shivering to their 
frames, and penetrated to the very marrow of their 
bones. Having taken this precaution, and wished 
each other a comfortable slumber, they lay down to- 
gether upon the inviting hay: but their bed apparently 
possessed a considerable degree of elasticity; for by 
a sudden movement, which agitated the bundle from 
its very foundation, they were both hurled off, and 
thrown violently one on one side, and one on the other. 
Belle-Rose stretched out his arm to save himself, and 
his clenched fist encountered something, neither hard 
nor soft, that seemed to bear a most remarkable re- 
semblance to the cheek of a human being, A momen- 
tary terror seized upon him — he thought he had 
encountered the touch of a dead body; but a loud cry, 
which he w'ell knew did not proceed from the lips of 
De Rosann, reassured him on this liead, and he start- 
ed on his feet to search for the individual w’ho had 
alarmed him. In an instant the whole bundle of hay 
flew to the other extremity of the stable, exposing to 
the view of our hero and his companion the elongated 
countenance and petrified form of the gastronomer, 
Champignon. 

The astonishment of Belle-Rose and De Rosann, 
when the lengthened countenance of Champignon 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


169 


met their eyes, may be well conceived ; nor did the 
gastronomer, on his part, omit a few ejaculations, ex- 
pressive of wonder at being thus discovered by his 
two quondam acquaintances. A more ludicrous 
scene cannot be easily imagined. They all three 
stared at each other with their mouths w’ide open, un- 
decided whether to put an end to the ridicule of the 
situation in which they found themselves by a hearty 
laugh, or by immediate questions and answers of ex- 
planation. Champignon, particularly, would have 
excited the risible muscles of the most sedate and 
saturnine being in the world. His small gray eyes 
were dilated to an unusual extent, so that his very 
forehead was contracted into a thousand wrinkles ; 
pieces of straw and hay were mingled with his un- 
kempt hair; his lips apart “ grinned horribly a ghastly 
smile,’’ like Milton’s Death, displaying two rows of 
large white teeth, almost reaching from ear to ear. 
He had raised himself to a sitting posture the moment 
his tegument of hay was mercilessly kicked off him. 
His hands were lifted up in mute marvel, and his legs 
were crouched under his corpulent person. It was 
impossible to gaze at him without a smile ; but Belle- 
Rose, who was the most unceremonious man in ex- 
istence, did not content himself with so simple a re- 
laxation of his now serious countenance ; he burst 
into a loud laugh, to the additional confusion of the gas- 
tronomer ; and as we naturally exhibit more feeling 
and sincere sympathy in a fellow-creature’s mirth than 
in his distress, De Rosann soon imitated the facetious 
Pierre, and regaled himself at the expense of Cham- 
pignon, in repeated shouts of hilarity, which brought 
tears to his eyes. 

“ Nothing could have been better!” exclaimed 
Belle-Rose ; “ I would not have lost this sight for all 
the world.” 

‘‘ Your jocularity would have been more adroitly 
placed, methinks,” returned Champignon gravely, 
‘‘after a substantial breakfast. An empty stomach is 
not good to laugh upon.” 

VOL. I. — 15 


170 


ALFRED DE ROSANIC. 


Did you not sup last night, then, before you lay 
down to rest in the manger?^^ inquired De Rosann. 

In truth, did I, and the raging of my appetite was 
assuaged with viands that I cooked myself,” answer- 
ed the gastronomer, a smile of satisfaction playing on 
his countenance ; ‘‘still it is no reason why we should 
not breakfast.” 

“Breakfast at daybreak!” cried Belle-Rose. 

“Ah! is it so early? I awoke about an hour ago — 
to the best of my recollection — and fancied the sun 
was rising ; but not having recovered from the fa- 
tigues I endured yesterday, I determined to indulge 
in a little more sleep ; and in order to do so with ad- 
ditional comfort, 1 ensconced myself beneath the hay, 
of which you have just disencumbered me.” 

“ Parhleu ! he has mistaken the glow occasioned 
hy the fire, for the rising of the sun !” ejaculated 
Belle-Rose. 

“ Fire!” echoed Champignon, starting from his un- 
pleasant posture, and seating himself in an easier one, 
while Belle-Rose proceeded to relate thecircumstances 
attending the dreadful conflagration, of which our 
readers are already aware. 

“ You did not save any of the cold turkey you 
alluded to ?” asked Champignon, when Pierre had 
terminated his tale. 

“God knows!” replied Belle-Rose carelessly. “By- 
the-bye,” he added, after a moment’s pause, “ since I 
have had the good nature to satisfy your curiosity, 
my worthy friend of the Cadran Rouge, you may as 
well do the same good office towards us, and recount 
the particulars of your escape from the hagne, whereat 
you commenced to be a mighty favourite. I cannot 
answer for De Rosann ; but as far as regards myself, 
I do not experience the slightest inclination to sleep. 
The singularity of this encounter has quite banished 
all ideas of seeking repose from my mind; and I shall 
listen to your narrative with pleasure.” 

“ Not for worlds would I forego the proposed 
amusement,” said De Rosann ; “ so let us seat our- 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


171 


selves on the hay, and attend to adventures which can 
be no otherwise than amusing.’^ 

“As for adventures,’’ cried Champignon, “God 
knows I have passed through enough of them in a 
little space of time ; and if you will promise not to 
interrupt me, for I cannot bear interruptions, your 
curiosity shall be immediately gratified.” 

“ Do not be alarmed on that head,” answered Belle- 
Rose ; “ I myself am attention personified, and De 
Rosann will readily give the assurance you require; — 
so no more nonsense, and commence.” 

“I always made it a rule in my kitchen” — began 
Champignon, assuming an important air. 

“For God’s sake,” cried Belle-Rose, “ let alone 
your kitchen during a short half hour, and tell us 
how you effected your escape from Brest.” 

“ Notwithstanding your promises, you interrupted 
me before I had completed ten words,” said the gas- 
tronomer sulkily. 

“ Because your prelude seemed to menance a long 
culinary dissertation,” returned Belle-Rose ; “ and 
much as I respect your talents in that line, I. do not 
see the necessity of beginning a history of adventures 
with a paragraph from the cookery-book.” 

“Be so kind as to suffer me to preceded in my own 
way,” persisted Champignon, “ or to hold my tongue 
at once and for all. I was saying that I made it an 
invariable rule in my kitchen, at the Cadran Rouge, 
which, as you may recollect, was set up in opposition 
to the monopoly so unjustly maintained by the Cadran 
Bleu—” 

“ In the name of God, what has that to do with 
your flight from the galleys?” ejaculated Belle-Rose, 
impatiently. 

“ It has a great deal to do with my history,” re- 
turned Champignon, annoyed at being interrupted a 
second time. 

“ Not if you commence from the 22d of May, 1830, 
the day of Francois’ execution, of Edouard’s murder, 
and of our escape,” said Belle-Rose. 

“ Only permit me to complete my first sentence 


172 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


and you will in a moment perceive the bearing and 
purport of the words with which I commenced my 
tale/’ 

‘‘Endeavour to restrain your impatience, my dear 
Belle-Rose,” said De Rosann; “ or we shall never get 
to the end of the narrative.” 

“ Proceed, then, muttered Pierre; “ and give us as 
little about your dishes, and as much about yourself, 
as you possibly can.” 

“You shall be obeyed,” answered Champignon; 
“ Attend. I had established it as an invariable rule 
in my kitchen, at the Cadran Rouge, that to do things 
well, the strictest order and regularity must be ob- 
served, even in the most trifling matters: the same 
rule will be now applied to my entertaining history.” 

“ Thank God!” exclaimed Belle-Rose, fervently. 

“The 7rpo Ktyc/uivA being achieved,” added De Ro- 
sann. 

“ I was chained to an individual,” continued Cham- 
pignon, heedless of these remarks, “ who seemed de- 
termined to assist the most tumultuous of his compa- 
nions, instead of acting as a peace-maker and mediator. 
I ventured to remonstrate with him on the depravity 
of such conduct; but he told me it was not Sunday, 
that he did not understand preaching, and that if I 
could not hold my tongue he would apply something 
to my mouth, to close it effectually. At that instant, 
a sudden movement on the part of the general mass 
gave us so violent a shock, that our shackles were 
pulled different ways, and caused us a momentary 
pain. My comrade was furious; he swore that I lag- 
ged behind on purpose to annoy him; and when I 
opened my lips to utter an assurance to the contrary, 
he gave me such a blow with the flat of his hand, that 
I fell to the ground, dragging my brutal assailant after 
me. He cursed and swore like a madman, because 
the pressure of the crowd knocked us one against the 
other, and prevented us from rising. While we were 
thus plunging about in the dirt, my eye caught sight 
of a small shining object that lay near me. I picked 
it up, and instantly recognised one of those keys which 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


173 


were used to lock our chains. You may laugh, gen- 
tlemen,’’ said Champignon, noticing that Belle-Rose 
and De Rosann exchanged certain glances, the signi- 
ficance of which he totally misunderstood; ‘‘but I can 
assure you it is a fact. How the key came there, God 
only knows: it was, however, a key, and a very use- 
ful one; for it unlocked my side of the chain in a mo- 
ment, and thus allowed me to rise from the ground. 
My companion could not fancy how I had liberated 
myself: and I persuaded him, that the weakness of 
the lock alone must have accidentally separated me 
from him. Had he been an object worthy of commi- 
seration, 1 should have immediately entrusted him 
with the secret. As it was, I kept my own counsel, 
and gradually edged off to as great a distance from the 
brutal convict as possible, till I at length found myself 
close to the door communicating with the hall, at the 
extremity of which is situate the principal entrance to 
the prison. At that moment the pressure of the crowd 
was very great in the spot where I was standing; and 
several Gendarmes and soldiers were forcing their 
way through the multitude to arrest the most riotous, 
and to compel the others to cease from encouraging 
the disorder. No one paid any attention to me, be- 
cause I remained tranquil; but I gazed intently on all 
that was passing in the vicinity of the door. Presently 
I noticed a terrible scuffle between a convict and a 
Gendarme. You may probably recollect that on ac- 
count of the dreadful chill of the morning, the Gen- 
darmes arrived ‘in their cloaks. The one who was 
now wrestling with the galley-slave, was encumbered 
by his. A sudden motion, however, soon deprived 
him of it, and the mantle rolled almost under my feet. 
In an instant his cocked hat followed the cloak — the 
scuffle continued — no one took any notice of the fallen 
objects — and presently another movement of the 
crowd left a clear space opposite the door. I hastily 
put on the cloak and the hat, knocked as loudly as I 
could at the gate, and when it was opened, rushed into 
the hall, crying, ‘The guard! the guard!’ Neither 
the turnkeys nor the sentries suspected my intentions 
15 * 


174 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


— they took me for a real Gendarme — my trousers 
escaped their notice — and the front door was imme- 
diately thrown open to afford* me egress/^ 

“Bravo?” cried Belle-Rose, unable to contain his 
admiration : give me your hand, Champignon ; I did 

not think you capable, my brave fellow, of so daring 
a deed. ’Twas excellent — delicious!” 

“Ah! ah!” chuckled the gastronomer; “we do 
things well, when we have a mind, eh?” 

“ You are a man of wonderful parts!” 

“ My name will yet be handed down to posterity,” 
cried Champignon, delighted with the adulation of 
Belle-Rose. “ Only wait till my cotelettes h la qua- 
drille get into vogue, and Europe shall talk of me.” 

“ The journals mention your name already,” said 
Pierre. 

“ Indeed! you do not mean what you say, my dear, 
kind, good Belle-Rose. Oh! if I knew the manner 
in which they speak of me! of course it is to praise 
my gastronomical knowledge. But which journal is 
it that does me so much honour!” inquired the de- 
lighted Champignon. 

“ Most likely the Jirmoricain de Brest answered 
Belle-Rose drily. 

“ Is it possible that my fame could have followed 
me from Paris?” 

“ Not that I know of,” replied Pierre; “neither 
have I seen the Brest newspaper; but you may rely 
upon one thing — which is, that you, myself, andDeRo- 
sann, with our full descriptions, have already figured 
as fugitive convicts amongst its advertising columns.” 

“ And that is the way my name has been brought 
before the public, then,’ said Champignon in a melan- 
choly tone of voice. 

“ Exactly,” returned Belle-Rose with an emphasis 
on his laconic answer, that increased the disappoint- 
ment of the ex-restaurateur. 

“But pray continue your interesting narrative,” 
exclaimed De Rosann ; “ you left off in the most enter- 
taining part: I am dying to hear how you escaped from 
the town in your Gendarme’s cloak and cocked hat.” 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


175 


“ If you choose to pay attention, and neither inter- 
rupt me with adulation nor with blame, I will conclude 
the history of my adventures,” said Champignon; and 
having received the promise demanded, he proceeded 
as follows. “ No sooner had I left the prison walls, 
than I hurried down two or three streets as quickly 
as my legs would carry me, uncertain whither lo go, 
a perfect stranger in Brest, and fearful of being arrested 
every moment. At length I saw an old-clothes shop 
in a narrow lane ; and knowing that 1 must entrust 
my secret to somebody to procure a change of raiment, 
I rushed into the house, knocked down a chair in 
which a large cat was reposing, trampled on the paw 
of a surly dog, that commenced a barking deafening 
to the ear, and ran against an old man who issued 
from a chamber adjoining his shop, to ascertain the 
meaning of so extraordinary a disturbance. At first 
he was purple through intensity of ire ; but I gradually 
succeeded in pacifying his wrath ; and he listened to 
my tale with the greatest attention. The Gendarme’s 
cloak was almost new, and the cocked hat was in 
tolerable condition. I offered them in exchange for 
any suit of clothes he chose to give me; and a bargain 
was soon made to our mutual satisfaction. Just as I 
was about to leave the shop, the old man inquired if 
I had a passport ; — ‘ Because,’ said he, ‘ on account of 
the disturbance in the hagne, no one will be permitted 
to leave the town without producing his papers.’ — I 
frankly confessed I had none ; and my dilemma ap- 
peared to be as great as ever : but in a moment an 
idea struck me, and I addressed the salesman as fol- 
fows : — ‘ My worthy friend and benefactor,’ said I, 
‘ you must not do things by halves, nor suffer a 
fellow-creature to be arrested for want of a little as- 
sistance. You have accommodated me with a seedy 
coat and a patched pair of pantaloons, and you may 
as well lend me your passport. There is not much 
difference between us — except that I am somewhat 
younger and better-looking — and your nose is most 
infernally crooked ; added to which 1 might notice 
a slight squint — but, barring those defects, you are as 


176 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


like me as a couple of fowls or a pair of partridges/ 
— The old man saw he could not get rid of me unless 
he acceded to my request ; and he knew if I were 
arrested in his shop, it would go hard with him, for 
having afforded protection to a format ivada ; so he 
generously handed over his passport, and wished me 
a pleasant journey. I thanked him, and sallied forth 
not exactly in search of adventures, but to avoid them 
as much as possible.” 

“ Never w’as there a less Quixotic plan, nor one 
coupled at the same time with more difficulty,” inter- 
rupted Belle-Rose. 

‘‘ Stay — and let us hear the result,” said De 
Rosann. 

I succeeded in passing through the gates of the 
town,” continued Champignon, “ by the aid of the 
old clothesman’s passport, notwithstanding the strict 
examination to which it was subjected. Under the 
denomination of sig7ies particiilih'es'^ was mentioned 
its late owner’s habit of squinting ; and 1 experienced 
the greatest difficulty in looking at my nose with 
my left eye during the five minutes that the Gen- 
darmes wasted in comparing my person with the 
descriptive items of the false passport. No sooner 
had I obtained permission to continue my journey, 
than the roar of the cannon from the citadel deafened 
my ears, and produced as great an effect upon me as 
did the fall of a tray, on which was an excellent dinner 
of my own cooking, one fine day, at the Cadran 
Rouge. To my astonishment the guns gave warning 
of the escape of three convicts ; and I recollect saying 
to myself, as I turned into a thick wood at a little 
distance from the glacis^ ‘ How I wish that the other 
two — myself being safe — were the worthy Messieurs 
De Rosann and Belle-Rose !’ — You appear incredu- 
lous ; but it is as true as that I can serve up a dejeuner 
h la fourchette better than any man in Christendom.” 

“ We believe you,” said Belle-Rose, “ having made 
the same remark relative to yourself: so proceed.” 

♦ Particular marks about the person ; such as scars, the traces 
of the small-pox, lameness, &c., &c. 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


177 


“ The moment I entered the wood, instead of has- 
tening towards the middle as quickly as I could, I 
turned immediately to the right; and seeing a dense 
thicket close by, I concealed myself within its friend- 
ly mazes, sagely concluding that when the Gendarmes 
went to search the shady labyrinth of trees, they 
would not look in the mere outskirts for the object of 
their visit. Seated upon some dead leaves, I put my 
right hand to my forehead, and my left hand to my 
hip, as i§ my custom when I am about to debate 
within my own mind on any important matter — - 
such as the various dishes that ought to compose the 
dijQferent courses of a diner soigne, or the articles in 
the bill to which I could best add a few extra francs 
without exciting the suspicion of a guest — and began 
seriously to consider what steps I ought to take in 
my present forlorn predicament. Having reflected 
at least three hqurs without coming to any positive 
decision, save that I must look out for a dinner, which 
I should have had no objection to cook myself, if any 
one had supplied me with, aliments and materials, I 
left my thicket, and walkea slowly into the recesses 
of the wood. Presently, to my joy and delight, a 
cottage met my eyes. I moved towards it, and stood 
ten minutes at the door without venturing to knock. 
At length it suddenly opened, and a little girl made 
her appearance on the threshold. She was startled 
when she saw me ; I, however, addressed her in that 
gentle tone which I can assume at pleasure, and re- 
quested somewhat to eat. My piteous harangue was, 
however, cut short by the sight of a blear-eyed old 
woman, with a pipe in her mouth, puffing away like 
a steam-packet. She did not, however, mean to in- 
terrupt me ; but merely stepped forward to listen. I 
renewed all my plaintive and touching representa- 
tions, declared I was a soldier who had been at Algiers, 
and had just returned from a dreadful campaign. The 
little girl, with a certain comical expression of coun- 
tenance, asked me if the province of Madagascar were 
not in a state of revolution, and if the king of China 
had not made war against the French. These ques- 


178 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


tions startled me a little — but supposing that the news 
were authentic, that the little girl had heard of them 
by some means or other, and that an old soldier should 
not be ignorant of such important political events, 1 
replied boldly in the affirmative, adding that I had 
myself been employed against the Chinese. The girl 
smiled, and renewed her questions, which were more 
extraordinary than the others ; namely, ‘ whether I 
had seen the king of China, whether he did not stand 
ten feethigh, and whether his cattle were notdressed in 
steel jackets and wadded pelisses V I began to fancy 
that the child had a mind to banter me, and accord- 
ingly thought to humour her whims by continually 
answering yes to every thing she said. In the middle 
of the conversation a sturdy peasant came up, and was 
saluted by the name of ‘ Father^ on the part of the 
little girl. He asked my business ; I told him the 
same tale I had already narrated to his daughter and 
the old woman ; and the mischievous Jeannette — for 
so her father called her — acMed all the wonders about 
the Chinese, Madagascar, et cetera^ et cetera. When 
she had concluded, I looked towards the peasant to 
ascertain the impression such marvels had made upon 
him ; but he turned sharply round, muttered a remark 
about the increase of liars in the world, and told me to 
go to the devil, as coolly as I am now talking to you.’^ 

De Rosann and Belle-Rose had hitherto maintained 
a certain gravity during the latter partof Champignon’s 
recital : but when he mentioned the indignation of 
the cottager, whom they both recognised as the Dra- 
conic Claude, it was impossible to suppress their 
laughter any longer. Champignon thought it was 
occasioned by the singularity of his adventures, and 
joined in the mirth of his companions till tears ran 
down his cheeks. 

‘‘ You may suppose that I was not very well pleased 
with the answer of the brutal peasant to my courteous 
language,” continued Champignon, when order was 
re-established in the stable — for the reader must not 
forget where this narrative was told : “ but I was. 
obliged to retire from the cottage, although not to 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


179 


visit the black gentleman to whom I was so uncivilly 
recommended. The whole of that weary day did I 
wander about the wood, and at night-fall, just as I 
had made up my mind to emerge into the open fields, 
a sudden rustling amongst the leaves, succeeded by 
violent shouts of laughter, made me again take to a 
rapid flight and conceal myself for another hour. 
When those sixty long minutes had expired, I sallied 
forth once more ; and after a tolerably tedious walk, 

I at length came to a large cottage, where lights were 
still burning. I knocked, and was this time received 
with civility, if not with absolute kindness. Accord- 
ing to my native modesty, I merely requested an 
outhouse, or the pigstye, to sleep in, naturally ex- 
pecting to be ofiered a bed. But the peasant, to 
whom the cottage belonged, took me at my word, 
and conducted your humble servant to the pigstye. 
To indemnify me, however, for this bad lodging, he 
produced a copious supper, which was not indifferently 
cooked, by-the-bye — and the following morning he 
made me a present of a suit of clothes, because my 
own were rather dirty, on account of a battle which 
took place between me and the pig.^’ 

“And then what became of you inquired Belle- 
Rose, seeing that Champignon hesitated. 

“ You shall hear in a moment : but first, allow me 
to recover a little breath.” 

“ As much as you like,” returned Belle-Rose : 
“ only make haste, for it will shortly be time for us 
to think of breakfast.” 

“In that case,” said Champignon, “I am at your 
service : listen. Nothing of importance occurred the 
day before yesterday — nor yesterday, until the even- 
ing. I begged a dinner at about two or three o’clock 
from some worthy peasants, who did not inundate 
me with stupid questions, and then tell me to go to 
the devil, like the uncouth father of little Jeannette : 
but they gave me some soup, in which they had not 
put enough salt, and some bouilli boiled to rags. I, 
however, accepted their bounty with many thanks, 
and merely hinted to them the defects I found in the 


180 


ALFRED DE ROSANN. 


cookery of the viands, that they might improve by 
my advice on future occasions. They did not appear 
very well pleased with these insinuations, and mut- 
tered something about ‘ beggars not being choosers.’ 
I repeated my thanks, and walked onwards, tolerably 
satisfied with the meal. It was my wish to reach 
St. Malo last night, as I have a cousin residing in that 
town, to whom I had an opportunity of rendering 
some pecuniary service in the days of the Cadran 
Rouge ; and I know he will receive me with kindness 
till I establish myself once more in a place, where by 
change of name, or other precautions, I can avoid the 
cunning of the Gendarmes. But about nine o’clock 
I found myself again overtaken by hunger, and was 
obliged to solicit a supper at a cottage not half an 
hour’s walk from this very spot. I was well received 
by a young man and his wife, who invited me to enter 
and partake of their repast. The viands, which were 
not yet cooked, were produced ; and to my astonish- 
ment I saw displayed upon the table a rabbit, three 
or four woodcocks, and a hare.^ A moment’s reflec- 
tion told me that my host was doubtless a poacher, 
such excellent cheer being considerably at variance 
with the miserable appearance of the hut. I did not, 
however, make any allusion to his supposed profession, 
but volunteered my services to dress the provisions, 
telling the man and his wife that I was the first cook 
in Europe, as they should soon have good reason to 
know. The supper was speedily submitted to tbe 
indispensable agency of the fire, and a short time saw 
the comestibles so exquisitely arranged, as to be 
capable of tempting the daintiest appetites that 
fdfmerly visited the Cadran Rouge. The founders of 
the feast were in raptures; they had no idea of the 
necessity of a toast underneath, and of vine-leaves on 
the breasts of the woodcocks, nor of the manner in 
which a hare should be trussed. Indeed, the v/oman 
herself acknowledged to me, during the meal, that 
she had often boiled her game for the sake of variety. 
Her husband was in a particularly good humour; and 
The French eat game throughout the year. 


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